Redivivus
by HopefulR
Summary: #12 in the Reconnecting series. Daedalus and Observer Effect in the Reconnecting-verse, as well as follow-ups for North Star and Damage. Columbia travels to the Expanse, and relationships reach turning points for Trip & T'Pol, Soval, and Archer.
1. The Dog and Pony Show

**Redivivus  
**by HopefulRomantic

#12 in the Reconnecting Series

Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: _Star Trek: Enterprise_ is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.  
Genre: Romance, drama, T/T, Archer/Kyle, ensemble, AU  
Spoilers: Major spoilers for "North Star," "Damage," "Daedalus," and "Observer Effect." Minor spoilers through "Terra Prime."  
Summary: Sequel to my story "First Light." _Enterprise_ sets out for the Barrens with the Ericksons, returning via a planet under observation; _Columbia's_ maiden voyage takes her to the Delphic Expanse; and relationships reach turning points for Trip and T'Pol, Soval, and Archer.

A/N: Thank you again for taking the time to read and comment, especially those of you who have stuck with the series from the beginning. I have enjoyed the reviews very much.

Thanks also to my stalwart betas slj91 (with me virtually from the beginning, whatta champ), Jenna, and boushh. I couldn't have come this far without : /Dialogue between slash marks/ denotes inner-mind bond-speak.

* * *

**Redivivus**

~-~-~  
**red-i-vi-vus** (rědʹ-ǝ-vī**ʹ**-vǝs, -vē**ʹ**-), _adjective  
_Come back to life; revived. [Late Latin _redivīvus_, renewed.]  
~-~-~

Chapter One: _The Dog-And-Pony Show_

_Starfleet Command  
__San Francisco, Earth_

Trip stared in disbelief at the three members of the Board of Inquiry seated before him. _Have they heard one thing I've said?_ "Objectivity?" he repeated. "T'Pol's tried to kill me more times than I can count!"

"But that was before you and she made the decision to marry," Admiral Tanith pointed out. "The circumstances were different."

"No, sir, the circumstances aren't different at all," Trip said patiently. "Don't you see? If we were married, she'd try even _harder_."

Admiral Zhang looked puzzled. "To kill you?"

Trip rubbed his eyes tiredly and sighed. "You're not gettin' the point."

xx-xx-xx

"And your point is, Commander?" Minister T'Kau inquired.

T'Pol regarded the trio with serene confidence. "Your assumption appears to be that Commander Tucker would have less regard for me if I were not to put his life before the lives of others. I put to you that the commander can have _no_ regard for me if I put his life before any other."

T'Kau nodded, apparently satisfied. The two admirals, however, were not. "Go on," prompted Zhang.

"Consider a hypothetical scenario," T'Pol said. "_Enterprise_ is damaged; many lives are in peril. The only action I can take to save those lives will result in the death of Commander Tucker. If I do not act, he lives, but the others die." She paused, eyeing each board member in turn. "Commander Tucker possesses strong moral principles, one of which is the willingness to serve a greater good. He has risked his own life numerous times to save the lives of others. If I were to choose inaction—save him, while letting countless others die—I would violate that principle, betraying the very foundation of our relationship in the process."

"Why would you tell him?" Zhang asked.

She looked blankly at him. "I beg your pardon?"

He shrugged. "He wouldn't necessarily know what you had done if you kept him from finding out."

T'Pol blinked, taken completely aback by the suggestion. Quickly, her astonishment gave way to an icy calm. She arched one eyebrow at the admiral. "You propose that I commit mass murder, then lie to my chosen lifemate to conceal a purely selfish act?"

Minister T'Kau turned coolly to Zhang. "I am most interested in your response to this question as well, Admiral."

Tanith leaned back in his seat, looking at once amused and a bit dumbfounded. "Me three."

Zhang didn't even flinch. "Even Vulcans have been known to justify the most heinous acts by twisting logic to suit their purposes. I need not remind you of what ex-Administrator V'Las pulled last month." He crossed his arms resolutely. "No offense, Commander T'Pol, but I'm not going to assume you're incapable of making the wrong choice under pressure simply because you are Vulcan. Especially if it involves your 'chosen lifemate.' I need more compelling evidence than your word."

xx-xx-xx

Archer stood before the board, hands clasped lightly behind him, and eyed the three members quizzically. "To expect that two seasoned officers, both with command training and years of experience in their respective fields of expertise, would, in a time of crisis, dispense with that hard-earned discipline and behave like selfish, smitten schoolchildren, is not logical."

Tanith squinted at him. "You sound like a Vulcan."

"Do I?" Archer smiled faintly. "I had a rather notable Vulcan inside my head for a few days last month. I guess he rubbed off on me."

xx-xx-xx

"I do not doubt that the no-fraternization policy has proven useful to Starfleet," Lorian told the board members.

_Quite diplomatic of him_, Karyn thought.

"That being said," Lorian went on, "such a policy—according to the medical and captain's logs of _E²_ over the course of 117 years, and confirmed by my own observation—is unnecessary when certain ethical guidelines and disciplines are observed."

Karyn saw Admiral Zhang purse his lips skeptically. _That guy is going to be a tough sell._ "Tell me more," the admiral said.

Karyn smoothly picked up where Lorian had left off. "The original crew knew that families—marriage, children, succeeding generations—were vital to the future of _Enterprise_ and the success of Captain Archer's new mission. But each crew member also understood the need to keep personal relationships in their proper perspective. They must yield, when necessary, to the greater goal of the well-being of the ship. Without the ship, there would be nothing: no success, no future."

"Captain Archer began with one of the teachings of Surak, the father of Vulcan logic," Lorian continued. "'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.' He developed it into a code of conduct that was strictly adhered to by the crew and taught to each succeeding generation. As a result, crew members were able to manage both personal and professional relationships quite successfully for over a century."

"Your crew lived in a continually heightened state of awareness," Zhang observed. "The stakes were high—the survival of Earth itself. The situation is different for Starfleet today. We are at peace."

"With respect, Admiral," Karyn said delicately, "you may be underestimating the dedication of your personnel. Even the children aboard our ship, who didn't really have a sense of the full implications of the war, or of time travel, understood that the needs of _Enterprise_ came before family plans or personal wishes."

"Moreover," Lorian added, "several dozen personnel to whom you hesitate to entrust the responsibility of personal relationships aboard ship are the very same men and women on board Captain Archer's _Enterprise_ who were thrown back in time to become our ancestors. They put into practice the code of conduct of which we now speak. The captain demanded a higher standard from them, and they met that standard—because they could."

Tanith glanced sidelong at Zhang. "Touché, Jubal."

"In the future," Karyn said, "as starships develop greater speed and distance capabilities, and as missions get longer, it's reasonable to expect that spouses and families living aboard ship will become routine, the way they are on cargo vessels now. Striking a balance between personal and professional responsibilities will be a necessary skill for everybody."

Zhang made a face. "Families aboard _starships?_ Kids?"

"It would be a logical progression," Minister T'Kau commented.

"It would be damn irregular," Zhang muttered under his breath.

It took a good deal of effort for Karyn to keep her expression neutral. She picked a spot on the wall just past Zhang's ear to stare at. _Let me guess, Admiral...never married? Or perhaps you run the family home like a military vessel, summoning the little woman and each child with different whistle signals, like Captain Von Trapp in "The Sound of Music"..._

Tanith was trying to hide a smile. "Let's table the issue of children for the moment and get back on topic, shall we?"

Karyn felt a whisper of amusement from Lorian through the bond as well. _At least there's someone in here who seems willing to hear us out,_ she thought hopefully.

* * *

When Karyn and Lorian emerged from the conference room, they found the rest of the Family camped out in the corridor. Trip and T'Pol were perched uncomfortably on a divan against the wall, while Archer paced back and forth, and Soval stood in contemplative repose nearby.

The captain pulled up as the newlyweds approached. "How'd it go?"

"Admiral Zhang appears to be quite tradition-bound," Lorian replied.

Trip rolled his eyes. "I woulda picked a different word."

"Admiral Tanith seems to have potential," Karyn said.

"Out of the mouths of eternal optimists." Trip slouched back in his seat as he looked at Archer. "You said Gardner called this whole song and dance a formality, but it sure didn't feel like that while I was in there."

"I know, Trip." Now that Archer was standing still, his hands were fidgeting restlessly. "They're just making sure."

"We are, after all, 'trailblazers'," T'Pol said, deadpan. Her dry delivery sliced through the tension, leaving the others smiling. Even Soval's eyes lit with amusement.

Archer glanced at the wall chronometer, then turned apologetically back to his two friends. "I have to go. I'm meeting Erika—she wants to pick my brain about the Expanse."

"That sounds like a jolly way to spend the afternoon," Trip said with sympathy.

"I'll be back as soon as I can get away."

T'Pol stood. "You have already testified, Captain. There is nothing more you can do here." She brought her most imposing Vulcan countenance to bear on him. "You need rest."

Karyn watched with fascination as Jonathan Archer, savior of the universe, began to back down in the face of T'Pol's subtle but formidable presence. "But..."

Trip stood as well, doing a pretty good imitation of his bondmate in the understated-intimidation department. "How long has it been since you've slept, Cap'n?"

Archer glared at him without answering.

"I thought so." Trip's manner softened. "Y'know, after several hours of hearing all about what you _don't_ get to do for the next few months, you deserve some shut-eye." He waggled his eyebrows a little. "Or...maybe a little jazz."

Archer's scowl dissolved into a smile, and he looked down...almost shyly, Karyn thought. She turned to Lorian, whispering, "What'd we miss?"

Lorian shook his head, as intrigued as she was. "Unknown."

"C'mon," Trip was prompting Archer. "We launch in three days."

"Do I look like Casanova to you?" Archer retorted doubtfully.

Karyn's jaw dropped. _Oh my God. Did he find his Esilia already? And not tell me?—_

Lorian reached over and tipped up her chin, shutting her mouth. "A private interrogation might be wiser than a public confrontation," he murmured. "As well as far more interesting."

He was right, of course. Now was the time to put a lid on her curiosity and focus on Trip and T'Pol.

Luckily, Karyn saw two people coming down the corridor who pulled her attention away from her great-grandfather: Admiral Gardner and the most beautiful Vulcan woman Karyn had ever seen, other than T'Pol. She appeared to be about T'Pol's age—meaning, anywhere from thirty to seventy years old—with uncharacteristically long hair fashioned into an intricate braid. Her exquisite features didn't reflect the cold remoteness typical of her species, but rather a gentle warmth that seemed infinitely more approachable.

The Starfleet officers automatically snapped to, but Gardner indicated with a wave of his hand for them to relax. He gave Lorian and Karyn a look of faint reproach. "Aren't you supposed to be on your honeymoon?"

"We are testifying on behalf of the commanders," Lorian explained.

"I see." The admiral flashed a small _I-should-have-known_ smile before presenting the Vulcan woman. "This is T'Shara, the newest member of the embassy's diplomatic staff. Captain Archer, Commanders Tucker and T'Pol of _Enterprise_...Commander Lorian and Lieutenant Archer of _Columbia_...and of course, the ambassador—"

"Ambassador Soval and I are already acquainted," T'Shara said, in a pleasantly melodious alto.

Karyn noticed Soval's demeanor shift from his usual calm to reveal a subtle hint of...what, exactly? She couldn't quite place it. Puzzlement? Uncertainty? "T'Shara," he acknowledged. "I was not informed that you had taken a position here."

"Recent events on Vulcan compelled me to 'return to my roots,' as the human phrase goes," she replied smoothly.

"You used to work at the embassy?" Gardner inquired.

She nodded. "Long ago."

"T'Shara joined my staff soon after I began my tenure as ambassador," Soval explained. "However, her proficiency in archaeo-linguistics soon made her far more valuable elsewhere."

T'Pol studied the woman with new interest. "You are the linguist T'Shara? I have read your translations of the ancient texts of Gol. I found your annotations regarding the culture and history of the time fascinating."

T'Shara inclined her head in thanks. "I am honored."

"T'Shara asked to meet you, Captain," Gardner told Archer. "She has a few questions about that whole Surak episode."

Archer gamely focused his attention on the Vulcan woman. "How can I help you?"

"I am preparing a new translation of the Kir'Shara, at Minister T'Pau's request," T'Shara explained. "I shall focus my interpretation on the culture of Surak's lifetime. Because you guarded his katra, I thought you might have memories of him that could aid in my translation."

"I still remember a little," Archer said. "Right now I'm on my way to an appointment—"

"I, too," T'Shara responded. "Perhaps we could walk together."

"Of course." Archer looked back to Karyn. "Lunch tomorrow?"

"It's a date," she said brightly. _And I'll get a chance to grill you about...whoever she is._

The captain gave Trip and T'Pol an encouraging nod, then escorted T'Shara out. "The quality I remember most vividly about Surak is his subtle sense of humor..."

After they were gone, Gardner surveyed the remaining officers. "So? Making any headway in there?"

"We hope so, Admiral," T'Pol replied.

"Why aren't you on the Board of Inquiry?" Trip asked.

"Because I am notoriously biased in the matter," Gardner said. "If it were up to me, you'd not only be on the same ship, I'd be marketing the hell out of it. It's great PR, even if it is bad Starfleet policy."

"Publicity?" Lorian inquired. "With xenophobia still cause for concern?"

"Your parents would be safe enough on _Enterprise_, Commander," the admiral said. "We might see an uptick in the number of demonstrators outside Starfleet and the Vulcan Embassy, but there's plenty of security to keep them from getting out of hand. I'm talking about a larger goal." He nodded toward Trip and T'Pol. "The sight of those two together, in both work and life, might quell the fears the 'phobes keep stirring up." He grinned. "Plus, being on the famous _Enterprise_ under Captain Archer doesn't hurt. It would be a publicity gold mine."

Trip chuckled. "You have this all figured out."

"Damn straight." Gardner cocked his head toward the conference room. "Except for those three in there. I had to leave something for you to do." He headed out. "Carry on."

Trip scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe I shoulda sicced Dad on the Board."

"Why?" Karyn asked.

"He suggested we cut through the bullshit and just tell 'em we're already married, and the world hasn't ended yet."

Karyn laughed as Lorian raised an eyebrow. "Your father?" he said, clearly impressed.

Trip nodded proudly. "That's proof right there that things can change, eh?"

Soval, who had been listening unobtrusively to the conversation, raised a pensive eyebrow. "Indeed."

An assistant stepped out of the conference room. "Ambassador? The Board will hear your statement now."

* * *

"Do you have something relevant to contribute to this discussion, Ambassador?" Admiral Zhang asked.

Soval had planned on speaking at length regarding Vulcan's unfortunate cultural aversion to interspecies relationships, the negative stereotypes encouraged in past decades by the High Command, the tolerant perspective espoused by Surak's teachings, the potential for Commanders T'Pol and Tucker to aid the Vulcan people in overcoming their longtime prejudices...

But he dispensed with all of it. "These proceedings, while of good intent, are irrelevant," he stated flatly. "Commanders T'Pol and Tucker are already married in the eyes of Surak, and therefore have demonstrated that they are capable of performing their duties aboard the same vessel with sufficient objectivity, since they have been doing so for some weeks now."

The two admirals looked confused. Minister T'Kau, however, appeared intrigued. "Explain," she said.

"They are bonded, Minister," Soval said simply.

She arched an eyebrow. "Indeed? A Vulcan and a human? With T'Pol already married to another?"

"The bonding was inadvertent. It began to form without their conscious awareness before her marriage took place."

"Fascinating," T'Kau murmured. "Have you confirmed the existence of this bond?"

"I have," Soval said.

Zhang held up a hand. "Hold on. What the hell are you two babbling about?"

"My apologies." Soval turned to the two admirals. "A psychic connection formed between T'Pol and Tucker as a result of their establishing a relationship with one another over a period of several months."

"It is the Vulcan way," T'Kau supplied. With a touch of wryness, she added, "No longer exclusively so, it would seem."

"After T'Pol's husband released her from her marriage, she and Tucker became fully aware of their nascent bond," Soval continued. "They chose to complete the connection with a bonding mind-meld, a ritual conducted as a marriage rite during Surak's lifetime, roughly two millennia ago."

"So...this 'bond' means they can read each other's minds now?" Tanith asked.

_Why is this the first conclusion humans invariably make when the bond is explained to them?_ Patiently, Soval answered, "The nature of the connection depends on the telepathic ability of the individuals involved. In the case of the commanders, each is a constant, subtle presence in the other's mind. They are aware of one another's moods and emotions."

"This evidence validates Tucker and T'Pol's earlier testimony," T'Kau stated. She looked pointedly at Zhang. "Casual subterfuge between them would be out of the question."

True to form, he remained skeptical. "You're telling me that some Vulcan mind-reading hoohah and a ceremony two thousand years out of date is supposed to convince me to sign off on amending a longstanding Starfleet policy?"

"Oh, give it up, Jubal," Tanith said. "The writing is on the wall. We have twenty aliens in the service today. How many will we have tomorrow? Next year? Five years from now? Times are changing. This whole concept of defining policy—any policy—on the basis of a strictly human cultural perspective is beginning to look a little narrow-minded."

Zhang did not appear wholly convinced, but Soval noted that the admiral refrained from making further objections. Perhaps he was at last seeing the logic of his colleagues' arguments.

* * *

Trip and T'Pol entered the conference room and silently took seats before the board members. Trip studied the three faces, but they were unreadable. He had no idea what to expect. Even now, he couldn't imagine either himself or T'Pol being transferred off _Enterprise_, not after all they'd gone through.

_No matter what, we'll be together_, he told himself, over and over. _No matter what..._

He felt T'Pol take hold of him through the bond, her mental touch as solid and secure as if she were literally holding his hand. He heard a silvery whisper in his mind...

/Always, _t'hai'la_./

He exhaled slowly as he felt her serenity calming him.

"Commanders," Admiral Zhang began, "two months ago, your request would simply have been a Starfleet policy matter. Now, in the wake of the embassy bombing on Vulcan, it's a lot more than that. If we do amend policy and you both stay on _Enterprise_ after you marry, like it or not, you will be precedent-setters."

"You would be assuming the responsibility of serving as examples for others to follow regarding peaceful and productive coexistence between our two species," Minister T'Kau continued.

"You would be symbols of the future of interstellar exploration—of the human/Vulcan alliance being hammered out as we speak," Admiral Tanith said. "And of the ties that humanity will be forming with many other species as we continue to push further outward."

"There's a flip side to all this," Zhang added. "There are several factions prominent in the xenophobe movement, such as Purity Now, Humanity First, and Terra Prime, that are actively seeking a catalyst for insurgent activities. For them, you would be a very visible rallying point: Starfleet's first Vulcan and her finest engineer, both heroes of the Xindi War, on the most prominent ship in the fleet. You would be scrutinized, spied on, made the subjects of xenophobic propaganda, and probably blamed for the dilution of humanity's purity. They'll be watching and waiting for any misstep to use against you."

"There is no way to know whether you will diffuse xenophobia or inflame it," T'Kau stated. "You could be used to support both issues."

"The bottom line," Zhang concluded, "is that the only guarantee I see for you is a hell of a lot of pressure and conflict. Are you prepared for that?"

Trip spoke first. "Sirs, ma'am...Commander T'Pol and I have been dealing with this for a lot longer than you have. Walking past that crowd of demonstrators yesterday was no fun, but gettin' my hand to do the Vulcan _ta'al_ was a damn sight harder...and it meant a whole lot more."

"Considering the myriad of obstacles that we have overcome in order to establish a lasting relationship," T'Pol said, "we are prepared to face whatever challenges yet await us. I did not anticipate becoming a precedent-setter, but I accept the role willingly, if it will ease the path for those who follow us."

Trip gave a little shrug. "All we want is to get married and get back to work, where we both belong. On _Enterprise_."

Zhang smiled faintly. "I figured you'd say something like that."

The three board members exchanged looks, then took on a more formal demeanor as they faced the two commanders once more. T'Kau said, "We have chosen to take your petition under advisement until such time as the Vulcan Social Ministry has made a pronouncement on the status of Commander T'Pol's marriage."

"In the meantime," Admiral Zhang went on, "you will, of course, maintain the status quo."

Admiral Tanith leaned forward with a small smile. "Off the record...keep it low-key, and we'll all be happy."

Trip blinked. _Did we just get an unofficial seal of approval?_

Then he saw Zhang raise his eyebrows expectantly, and he snapped out of it. He got swiftly to his feet, with T'Pol standing at the same moment. Stealing a quick glance in her direction, Trip saw the same look of quiet amazement in her eyes, even as he felt her giddy joy through the bond.

"Aye, sir!" they both responded crisply.

As they stood smartly at attention, Zhang intoned, "This Board of Inquiry is adjourned."

-tbc-


	2. Taking Chances

**Redivivus  
**by HopefulR

Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: _Star Trek: Enterprise_ is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

* * *

Chapter Two: _Taking Chances_

"We would be...how did they put it?" Trip savored another spoonful of Kuleto's famed tiramisu. "I remember now...'symbols of the future of interstellar exploration'...'examples for others to follow regarding peaceful coexistence between our two species'..."

"Careful there, son." Chuck refilled his wine glass. "You might not be able to fit your head through the door when we leave."

"Let him bask, hon," Catherine chided her husband. "He and T'Pol pretty near achieved the impossible today." She smiled at Karyn and Lorian, who had joined them for the impromptu victory dinner at Trip's favorite Italian restaurant. Kuleto's owners had whisked them into one of the private dining rooms, where they had enjoyed a feast of Northern Italian cuisine in blessed privacy. "You all did."

"Especially Soval." Karyn raised her glass to the absent ambassador.

Lorian touched his glass to hers in salute. "His statement to the Board must have been quite persuasive."

"What'd he tell them, anyway?" Catherine asked.

"He did not say, precisely," T'Pol replied. "Only that he reiterated certain information of which the board members needed to keep aware as they weighed the matter over."

Chuck surveyed the remains of their dinner. "Too bad he's not the celebrating type."

"Nah, he's probably at the embassy," Trip said. "He did spend most of the day cooling his heels at Starfleet, after all. I'd bet the only thing he's thinkin' about now is work."

* * *

Soval was thinking about T'Shara.

He'd had much time to think today, as he kept company with his friends at Starfleet. He had reflected on T'Shara, and their early-morning conversation on the beach, and his own affection for her, buried away for so long, but never forgotten. He was still pondering the matter when he arrived at the embassy to see about the backlog of work that undoubtedly awaited him.

It was late; the premises were quiet and virtually empty. As he traversed the long hallway toward his office, he saw light spilling from the open doorway of the room directly opposite his. That was the office he had given T'Shara to use, decades ago. After she left, he had it converted into a storage room...

Unobtrusively, he glanced inside, and drew in a silent breath. It was like looking thirty-five years into the past. The supplies had been removed, replaced by a desk and other office accoutrements. T'Shara was sitting amid an array of personal items and several stacks of bound books; she was paging through one of the volumes with interest. The sight reminded him of many a late night long ago, when he would find her here working diligently at her terminal, entering new historical data she had gathered for the Information Ministry, or translating an archaic book of poetry or myth.

He should not have been surprised at this development. But T'Shara had managed to keep him off guard from the moment she had returned.

She looked up from the book in her hand, and her sable eyes brightened. "Soval. I was thinking of you just now." She indicated the books on the desk. "As I was cleaning out the room, I found these—the myths and legends I studied to better understand the humans' culture." She showed him the book she held. "Ovid's _Metamorphoses_...I read to you from it one evening. Do you remember?"

Soval remembered. His awkwardness at being alone with her for the first time since she had saved him from the _pon farr_...her gentle acceptance, which had put him at ease...the intoxicating nearness of her as he looked over her shoulder at the ancient Greek text while she effortlessly translated it. He could recall every detail, every sensation. They were as vivid to him as if they had happened days ago, rather than decades.

"Were you planning on telling me you had rejoined the Diplomatic Ministry?" he asked, hoping he sounded like a slighted superior rather than a petulant child.

"At my first opportunity!" T'Shara declared. "However, by the time I arrived at the embassy this morning, you had already left for Starfleet Command."

"I see." Sufficiently mollified, Soval indicated the room. "And now you choose to make your office here again?"

She began shelving the volumes in a bookcase against the wall. "I have many agreeable memories of this room."

_My memories of this room, and the two of us here, have haunted me for decades_, he thought as he watched her. _Perhaps that is how I define "agreeable."_ Aloud, he pointed out, "There are larger offices, more conveniently situated."

T'Shara seemed amused. "But none more logical for my needs."

A myriad of possibilities, hardly any of them related to the daily operations of the Diplomatic Ministry, swirled in his mind. "Which are...?"

She turned to him, her face innocence itself. "If I am to hone my skills as a diplomat, who better to observe than the ambassador himself?"

He paused uncertainly, caught off guard once more. "You wish to...observe me? Is that all?"

"I have no intention of forcing myself on you." T'Shara gathered up another handful of books and returned to the bookcase. "If you come to the same conclusion about our personal situation that I have, I trust you will inform me. Until then, you shall be my teacher. My mentor."

He drew himself up, simmering at her. "If it is your wish not to call attention to my age, you are failing."

She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes warm with affection. "How I have missed your brittle disposition, Soval."

He attempted to look annoyed with her, but in truth, he found it impossible. "No one else has ever made that claim."

She tilted her head in a faint shrug. "Other men seem so determined to be paragons of convention, to do and be precisely what is expected of them. I have always found their sameness quite dull. The Kir'Shara has made men of their sort highly disconcerted."

Now he was intrigued. "Explain."

"I speak of Surak's perspective regarding IDIC." T'Shara moved toward him as she continued. "For so many centuries, it has been assumed that he wrote, 'Acknowledge diversity'...but the Kir'Shara reveals that his true words were 'Celebrate diversity.' Rather than the ritual phrase of peace, 'I accept our differences," he said, 'I rejoice in our differences.'" She came to a halt before him. "Upon my arrival today, I learned that humans are in the midst of a struggle to find the path of tolerance. Many on Vulcan will face the same struggle as the true word of Surak spreads."

She was achingly close now, near enough for him to breathe in her delicate scent, the same scent that had interrupted his meditation so pleasantly on the beach this morning. He felt as though she had never left him.

"But not you?" he asked.

She turned her face up to his. "No. I have never been a paragon of convention, as you well know. It is an easy thing for me to rejoice in the differences of another." Her lips were only a few centimeters from his, her eyes filled with serene promise. Her voice dropped to a soft caress. "In particular...a certain sour-tempered diplomat."

Impossible woman! Soval didn't know whether to take her to task, or take her in his arms. "T'Shara, you have been here for less than one day—"

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "And I have much lost time for which to make amends." She brushed past him, shutting off the light. "Good night, Ambassador." With that, she glided out, leaving him standing in the dark, speechless.

By Surak, was he _ready_ for such as her?

* * *

The bar at Callahan's was a madhouse, but Kyle had a good rhythm going. When Enrique, her relief, appeared at her elbow, she almost dumped a strawberry margarita on him. "What's wrong?" she asked, mopping up the spill on the floor. "Did I mess up an order?"

Enrique grinned. "That's a good one, K. Tell me another."

"C'mon, Rique. What's up?"

"Nothing's up. You're on break."

Kyle looked at the old-time analog clock on the wall beside the bar. It was just past ten. "You're an hour early."

"I know," Enrique said as he whipped up another margarita. "Boss told me to break you now."

Kyle frowned as she wiped her sticky hands on a bar towel. "What for?"

Enrique shrugged. "He moves in mysterious ways."

She tossed the towel and came out from behind the bar. "See you in fifteen, then."

He shook his head. "Nope." Kyle stopped, turned, and waited curiously. Enrique continued, "He told me to tell you to come back when you're ready."

"When I'm..." She squinted at him. "You're shitting me."

He took a waiter's drink order. "When the master decrees, I obey. Even when he sounds bonkers."

Kyle was no fool. "I'm _gone_," she grinned as she hurried away.

She skirted the crowded dance floor toward the spot where she always spent her breaks: the recessed stairway that led to Callahan's upstairs office. Ducking into the shadowy alcove, she got about five steps up before she sensed there was someone else already there, sitting halfway up the stairs. She stopped as the stranger stood, her eyes sweeping up the tall, lean figure clad in a dark jumpsuit, and she realized it was... "Jon?"

She could just barely make out his smile in the dimness. "I was planning on stopping by after you got off work," he said, his voice tinged with apology. "But I don't think I'm going to last that long. I'm afraid I fouled up Callahan's work schedule."

"He'll get over it." Kyle looked more closely. Jon looked as if he were running on fumes. "How long has it been since you slept?"

He made a sound of protest that reminded her of a little boy who didn't want to go to bed. "Why does everybody keep saying that to me?" He held out his hand, and Kyle took it. In one graceful move, he pulled her up to stand beside him. Before her brain even had a chance to process it, she found herself in his arms, her head nestled against his broad chest. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to hug Jon hello.

"It's good to see you," he murmured against her hair.

Kyle sighed contentedly. "I've been thinking about you all day." Abruptly, she pulled away, mentally yanking her foot out of her mouth. "Oh. That sounded obsessive, didn't it?"

He chuckled. "I've been thinking about you, too. There—now we're both obsessed."

She smirked. "I feel _so_ much better."

"Glad to help out."

He was swaying slightly on his feet. Kyle kept an arm around him as she eased him back down onto the step. "Here, let's sit you down before you fall down." As she took a seat beside him, she noticed a tranquility on his face that hadn't been there yesterday, or in any of the pictures she'd seen in the news. "You found someone to take on the sin-eater, didn't you?"

Jon smiled again. "How can you tell?"

She shrugged modestly. "You want to go to sleep. That's a giveaway right there."

"True," he admitted wryly. "I haven't felt like sleeping for a while."

She touched her hand lightly to his cheek. "And...you look different."

His eyebrows rose in surprise. Not surprise that she'd said it, but more like surprise that she noticed. "Different how?" he asked.

She let her fingers lightly caress his face, moving up to his forehead, free now of worry lines. She felt him lean into her touch as he held her eyes. "The shadow is gone," she told him gently. "You've made peace with your ghosts."

He took her hand in his. "My ghosts..." Almost too softly for her to hear, he murmured, "Uncanny." Then he nodded firmly. "Right again. I'm eyes-forward now, focused on the future. There are a lot of positive changes on the horizon—for _Enterprise_, Starfleet, Earth—"

She squeezed his hand. "And Jon too?"

He hesitated. "That's uncharted territory."

"So? You're an explorer," she said, with a twinkle in her eye.

He laughed out loud. Kyle listened to the joy of that laugh, the love of life set free again. Jon kissed her hand lightly, then pulled her back into his arms. As she felt the relaxed closeness of his body against hers, Kyle knew that wherever her journey with this man might take her—worry for his safety, inconvenience because of his celebrity, loneliness when his job kept him away—it would be worth the love she felt growing in her heart for him with each passing moment.

For a while, they talked comfortably in the dark. Kyle found out that Jon was forty-five, his favorite sport was water polo—now there's something you didn't see every day—and he had a beagle named Porthos who lived aboard ship with him. She told him about her penchant for naming her cats after royalty, her fondness for counted cross stitch as meditative therapy, and her weakness for deep-fried ice cream. They even got into a lively discussion regarding the comparative merits of Mark Twain versus Charles Dickens before Jon finally, reluctantly got to his feet.

They descended the steps hand in hand, just as they had the night before during the reception. As Jon reached the floor, Kyle stayed on the bottom step so she could look directly into those beautiful green eyes of his.

"I don't know when I'll be back," he said, apologetic again. "I have a busy couple of days coming up."

"I'll be around," she replied.

Neither of them said good-bye; Kyle had a feeling they would be avoiding that word from now on. Instead, Jon slipped his arms around her and kissed her. The moment was sensuous and lingering and delicious, and if it had lasted forever, it wouldn't have been long enough. Then, with a smile, he was gone, and Kyle was already missing him.

She sat on the bottom step, unwilling to face the harsh, lonely reality of the real world just yet. She listened as Sammy and the band launched into a lively tune.

_Here I go again  
I hear those trumpets blow again  
All aglow again  
Taking a chance on love._

What the...?

Kyle poked her head out of her alcove sanctuary. The whole damn band was looking at her. Grinning like a pack of doting uncles. Jeez, as if Callahan wasn't enough. Don gave her a little wave, and Sammy sang the next verse right to her.

_Here I slide again  
About to take that ride again  
I'm starry eyed again  
Taking a chance on love._

So much for her secret romance. She couldn't hide a thing from these guys.

The good news was, they had a lot of respect for Captain Archer—they'd keep it in the family. Of course, they'd tease the hell out of Kyle.

But in a weird sort of way, she was looking forward to that.

-tbc-


	3. Illumination

**Redivivus  
**by HopefulR

Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: _Star Trek: Enterprise_ is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

A/N: My thanks to pookha for her always-intriguing musings.

Note: /Dialogue within slash marks/ indicates inner-thought mind-meld speech.

* * *

Chapter Three: _Illumination_

Upon learning that Archer had a few more things to go over with Erika about the mission, Karyn proposed they have lunch aboard _Columbia_. Afterward, she brought her great-grandfather to her quarters, telling him only that she had a surprise for him.

Archer waited curiously as Karyn dug around in a battered old Starfleet-issue storage case she had pulled out of her closet and set on the bed. At last she found what she was looking for: a book. Sitting Archer down on the bed beside her, she put the book in his hands.

With a start, he recognized his own _The Cosmos: A to Z_, the childhood astronomy book he'd kept with him on _Enterprise_ since Day One, even after their own mapping of the Arachnid Nebula had rendered it quaintly obsolete. This version of the book was decades older, its binding cracked, its pages well-handled, its corners worn. Still, it was in amazingly good shape for being 150 years old.

Carefully, he opened it. There was the bookplate with his own neat printing, though the ink had faded with time: _Admiral Jonny Archer_.

Karyn was watching him with that same quiet smile she'd worn while she was giving him his first look at her _Enterprise_ back in February. He realized he must have the same expression of amazement on his face as he did back then. "How did it last?" he asked. "Did you keep it in a vacuum-sealed display case?"

"Just the opposite," Karyn replied. "Looking through that book was a rite of passage for every kid who grew up on the ship. I remember when I read it after taking my first astronomy class. Very inspiring."

"Three generations of kids read this?" Archer was pleased, for some reason he couldn't explain. "Over a hundred years' time? And it didn't fall apart..."

"You had one rule," Karyn explained. "'Clean hands, careful hands.' It was enough."

Archer held the book up and smelled it. It even had that faint keepsake-whiff of old pages and binding glue that its younger counterpart, back in his cabin on _Enterprise_, hadn't yet acquired. With care, he set the book aside and turned back to the pockmarked storage case beside Karyn. "What else is in that treasure chest of yours?"

They spent the next hour poring over the keepsakes of the Archer family of Karyn's past. He recognized some of the items—a shot glass from the 602 Club, a dog's rubber play ball, complete with Porthos' teeth marks. Others were new to him, like the U'tani earrings.

Then there were the pictures. They gave Archer more of a sense of history, and the passage of time on _E²_, than the captain's logs, or the medical records, or anything else he'd seen. There were the other Jon's wedding pictures, with Esilia looking as dreamlike and ethereal as the stunning ice-blue Ikaaran gown she wore. Jon and Trip grew older and grayer in the photos, but stayed fit, and as close as brothers. There was Trip with his family: T'Pol, serenely beautiful, and a slender tow-headed boy with pointed ears—Lorian, Jon's godson. Jon and Esilia's son Henry was tall like his father, but slender and delicately featured, with his mother's pale eyes and hair, and her forehead ridge.

Then Trip vanished from the pictures, and everyone appeared suddenly older and more somber, Jon most of all.

Henry's son Charlie looked more like an Archer—blond, strong-jawed and broad-shouldered, though Esilia's forehead ridge was there. A dominant trait, evidently. His wife Olivia bore a striking resemblance to Karyn. They made a handsome couple, relaxed in each other's company, comfortably happy. And there was a baby picture of Karyn. Even as a child, she had the same sunny smile...

Archer was still sifting through the album and framed photos when Karyn produced one final jewel from her treasure chest. "I gave Lorian the ring my mother gave to my father. This is the ring he gave to her." From a small velvet pouch, she pulled out a delicate wedding band of gold filigree. "Before that, Henry gave it to Madisen, and Jonathan gave it to Esilia."

She handed the ring to Archer. He held it up, watching the play of light on the intricately designed filigree. "It's beautiful." How did the other Jon get hold of workmanship like this in the Expanse?

As if reading his mind, Karyn said, "The gold was engineering circuitry, originally. The ring was handmade by Crewman Schloss, whose father was a jewelry designer. Schloss had begun learning the family trade before he joined Starfleet."

Archer nodded absently, still looking at the ring. "Schloss...stellar cartography."

"I thought it might make a good choice for you," Karyn went on. "In case you'll be needing one soon, for your own bride."

Her words took a few seconds to penetrate, before he did a head-snap. "My what?"

"Your Esilia." Karyn folded her arms in pointed admonishment. "About whom I am _still_ waiting to hear details, incidentally."

Archer held up a hand. "Hold on. Where'd you get the idea that she's my...that I'm..."

"From you and Trip yesterday at Starfleet. He was teasing you about her, and jazz...?"

Archer gave the ring back to Karyn. "Slow down there, missy. I'm not planning on proposing to anyone just yet."

She tucked the ring back in its velvet bag. "Whatever you say. But you will. I _saw_ you."

"What do you mean?" he asked warily.

"The look on your face." Karyn smiled. "It was all...goofy."

He squinted at her. "Goofy."

She nodded. Archer went on, "And 'goofy' means I'm shopping for a ring?"

"I have been down this path myself," Karyn said placidly. "Goofy is pretty serious, especially for someone like you." She settled herself more comfortably on the bed. "So I take it you met her at the reception?"

Archer laughed. "You're nosy."

She batted her eyes sweetly. "I take after my great-grandfather that way. C'mon, spill."

"Okay, okay. I met her before then. And so did you."

Karyn leaned forward curiously. "When? Who?"

"When I arranged for the reception with Callahan. She's Kyle MacMillan, his bartender." Archer waited, wondering what the reaction would be.

Karyn brightened. "I like her. She's pragmatic—she always has sensible advice for people."

"She ought to," Archer said wryly. "She's a psychologist in all but name."

Karyn laughed. "Perfect!"

"I _beg_ your pardon. Are you implying that I need counseling?"

Karyn patted his hand solicitously. "Silly Papa. I meant that Kyle will have the wisdom to understand your higher calling—the responsibilities and pressures of your work."

"There you go again. My optimist."

"Always." She put the velvet pouch back into the storage case. "The ring will be here when you're ready."

Archer's eyes strayed again to one of the framed pictures...Charlie and Olivia cooing over their baby daughter. "What was Charlie like?"

Karyn smiled fondly at the photo. "A terrific pilot. A wonderful father. He loved my mother to the depths of his soul. He laughed a lot—he had a big, booming laugh. I can still hear it in my head sometimes, when I think about him."

Archer studied the picture, conjuring it to life in his imagination...Charlie Archer and his Olivia with their beautiful Karyn-child. "And Henry...did you know him? Do you remember him?"

"A little. He died when I was very young." Karyn opened the photo album again, flipping through it to find a picture of Henry. "I mostly remember him through Daddy's stories. He was quiet—he took after Esilia that way. Also a great pilot. It was in the blood, of course..."

* * *

As Soval watched Lorian shut his eyes and take a deep, measured breath in preparation for initiating his first mind-meld, the ambassador marveled at how far the younger man had progressed. In just a few hours, Soval had been able to teach the commander the rudimentary techniques necessary to establish a meld, while T'Pol had required several days to accomplish the same task.

Of course, Lorian was likely a quicker study because of what he lacked: he did not share his mother's harrowing introduction to melding, which had inhibited her training for a time. Nor had his parents subjected him to the typical Vulcan training regimen for the suppression of emotion. As a result, Lorian found the emotional vulnerability required of melding to be more tolerable than T'Pol ever had.

Lorian carefully positioned his fingers on the _katra_ points of Soval's face. "My mind to your mind," he murmured softly.

Soval felt a faint presence nudging at the edge of his consciousness. Lorian's eyes slid shut in concentration. "Our minds are merging..."

Soval sensed a vague hesitation. He spoke to Lorian, mind to mind. /Can you hear me?/

Lorian was aware of Soval's mental presence close by, but for some reason, he could not see or hear the ambassador. With his mind's eye, he could only discern colors and shapes, shifting and indistinct. He reached out, the way Soval had taught him, trying to clarify the images—and suddenly he was plunged into a maelstrom of emotions. They were everywhere, a relentless, colliding cacophony that nearly paralyzed him with their intensity. He felt them as vividly as if they were his own...amusement, pride, affection, anguish, joy.

Some emotions were so strong that they took form as recognizable images, though they seemed stylized, as if created by instinct rather than intellect. Grief was Soval cradling a bleeding, broken Admiral Forrest in his arms. Terror became an Andorian commander, his gaze intense, demanding, implacable. The madness of _pon farr_ took shape as a naked male and female, writhing in a frenzied sexual embrace. Lorian recognized them as Soval and—was that the Vulcan woman they had all met at Starfleet today? T'Shara?—

With a quiet gasp, Lorian lowered his hand from Soval's face, taking a step back. The ambassador regarded him with puzzlement. "Lorian? Did you complete the link?"

"I...I'm not sure." Lorian kept his gaze averted. He could still feel the vestiges of Soval's emotions coursing through his own body.

"I spoke to you," Soval said. "Were you able to hear me?"

Try as he might, Lorian could not banish the most vivid image, that of Soval and the woman T'Shara, their bodies intertwined in ecstasy...

"You're shaking," the ambassador observed.

Lorian struggled to regain control. "I didn't hear your thoughts," he said at last. "But I felt...I _saw_ your emotions."

Soval appeared quite taken aback. "Indeed? Explain."

Lorian shut his eyes, allowing the feelings to wash over him again. "Anguish was Admiral Forrest, dying. Fear was the face of an Andorian as he stripped your control from you..."

"Shran," Soval breathed. For a moment he looked self-conscious; then he composed himself, adopting the demeanor of a lecturing professor. "This first experiment indicates that your melding ability may be limited to sensing emotions, rather than achieving actual thought projection. But you seem unusually well-attuned, to the point of gaining access to visual manifestations of emotions associated with certain memories..." He appeared uncomfortable again. "Did you see anything else?"

Lorian chose to sidestep the question. "Perhaps I was employing the melding technique incorrectly."

"That is always a possibility, but unlikely in your case," the ambassador replied. "The most obvious explanation is that you are an empath."

Lorian stared at him. "I? An emotional sensitive?" He had no idea how to react. Astonishment? Embarrassment?

"It is a logical hypothesis, considering your hybrid origin."

Lorian hesitated. "I'm not certain how to proceed. _Columbia_ launches in two days. I feel as if I have only barely begun to grasp the mental disciplines you have taught me. And now to learn of this oddity—"

"Heed the words of Surak, Lorian," Soval said calmly. "Master it, so it does not master you. Once you have learned to control your ability, you will have the confidence to utilize it, perhaps in service to others." With a touch of reassurance, he added, "We will work together to improve your skills until _Columbia_ leaves. But do not underestimate your human instincts, Commander. They will serve you well in this matter."

Lorian nodded, hoping that he would, in time, feel as sanguine as Soval. _Vulcan empath_... Now he could add another oxymoron to the already colorful list of terms being used on _Columbia_ to describe him.

* * *

Phlox stood by as the Starfleet security guard opened an audio channel into the cell. "Visitor, Dr. Soong."

Through the reinforced glassteel, Phlox saw Arik Soong fairly leap to his feet, clapping his wrist restraints together without prompting so the guard could secure them. He turned to the door—but as soon as he saw Phlox, his expression of soaring expectation abruptly crashed and burned. Clearly he had been hoping to see someone else.

Phlox greeted him pleasantly nonetheless. "Hello, Doctor."

Soong managed a thin smile. "Phlox."

The guard opened the security doors and Phlox stepped inside the cell. "Sorry to disappoint you," he said good-naturedly. "You were expecting...?"

"What makes you think I would prefer _anyone_ else's company?" Soong said caustically. His wrist restraints broke apart with a snap, startling Phlox, who wasn't used to the routine. Soong merely squared his shoulders and turned away from the door. "Actually, I thought you might be Lieutenant Archer. She left word that she would be coming by today."

"Did she?" Phlox said, with interest.

"Oh, don't go trying to read me, you old gossip," Soong snapped. "She's been kind enough to visit me every few days and tell me tales about the Expanse. She happens to be a marvelous raconteur."

"She is indeed."

"It's been a whole week since she's been here," the geneticist said grumpily. "She's obviously had more important things to attend to." Under his breath, he added, "Such as getting _married_ out of the blue."

Phlox raised an eyebrow. "You sound jealous."

"Nonsense," Soong scoffed. "It wouldn't do me any good anyway. She only has eyes for the Vulcan Who Smiles." He hmmphed. "There seems to be something irresistible about those Tucker men. I can't imagine what."

"Their sterling character, perhaps," Phlox suggested.

Soong snorted. "In my experience, scoundrels are far more attractive." He heaved a melancholy sigh. "In another day, she'll be gone, and so will you. No more visits from anyone." He plopped dejectedly into his desk chair. "I'll probably rot away in here, completely forgotten."

Phlox eyed him without much sympathy. "Somehow I doubt that." He pulled a padd from his pocket. _And so we begin_. "I brought along my research today. You mentioned you'd be interested in following my progress."

"Hmm? Oh yes, the human/Vulcan hybrid project." Soong held out a hand. "How is that coming along?"

Phlox handed over the padd. "I'm exploring several new avenues in use on Denobula. They might improve on my counterpart's techniques and avoid the problems that resulted in the mother's miscarriages, and in the life-threatening complications to her and her son during childbirth."

Soong scanned rapidly through the padd's contents, more quickly than any speed-reader. "Promising." He set the padd down, one hand resting idly on it as he turned to Phlox. "This reminds me—I've been doing a little light reading on cloning. Nothing that you can use in your current research, but I came across some information regarding the Lyssarian mimetic cloning technology that you might find mildly interesting."

At once, Phlox was all ears. Sim had been a Lyssarian mimetic clone.

"I found a comprehensive analysis of the Velandran Circle's claims regarding the effectiveness of that enzyme that supposedly extends the life of a clone beyond fifteen days," Soong went on.

"And?" Phlox prompted.

"I studied the data," Soong said off-handedly. "Highly unstable, the enzyme. Unreliable."

Phlox didn't realize he'd been holding his breath. "Is that so?"

Soong nodded, his finger absently tracing patterns on the screen of the padd. "Used on a human cloned from a Lyssarian larva, for example—virtually no chance of life extension, in my assessment. The enzyme is too vulnerable to inhibitors that would slow its catalytic function and prevent the metabolism necessary to alter the clone's genetic structure."

_It wouldn't have worked. It wouldn't have saved him_... "Are you certain?" Phlox asked softly.

"Pie in the sky," Soong said dismissively. "Smoke and mirrors to deflect the controversy over the cloning process itself. The actual field testing of the enzyme has gotten nowhere." He met the physician's gaze steadily. "If you had ever been in a position to use it, Doctor..." He gave a little shake of his head. "It would have come to nothing."

Phlox swallowed hard, struggling to keep his composure. Soong's words were validation, in a way, for the difficult choice made last year to save Commander Tucker's life. In the end, Sim had made the final decision himself...but more than ever now, Phlox wished he could have put his surrogate son's mind to rest about the Velandran enzyme. "Hindsight...it can be as maddening as it is reassuring." His voice was hoarse with emotion. "How did you learn of this?"

"I hear things." Soong's voice was surprisingly gentle.

Phlox smiled faintly as he put it together. "Lieutenant Archer told you about Sim, didn't she? One of her tales of the Expanse?"

Soong nodded. "She said they would tell the story to the children as an example of nobility and sacrifice."

Phlox felt privileged, though he didn't have the words to express it. "It's good that Sim wasn't forgotten."

"Terrible to lose a child," Soong murmured. There was a melancholy in his eyes that Phlox recognized all too well.

The geneticist was still doodling with his finger on the padd...and Phlox suddenly realized that he wasn't doodling at all. He was writing, using his fingertip as a stylus. He must have been writing all this time. _So he did think of a way for us to communicate secretly whenever we meet._

Soong handed the padd back to Phlox. "I'm glad you're spearheading this research, Doctor, for the sake of the children." He pointed to the screen. "Consider approaching this data from a different perspective. I think you might see a few breakthroughs that will be as plain as day."

Phlox glanced at the padd's controls. They were set for stylus writing, and the font color had been changed to match the screen's background, making whatever Soong had finger-written in the margin effectively invisible. "Thank you," he said. "I agree—a closer look can be quite illuminating."

-tbc-


	4. Closer

**Redivivus  
**by HopefulRomantic

Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: _Star Trek: Enterprise_ is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

A/N: My thanks to the Vulcan Language Dictionary. Poem excerpt by Walt Whitman.

* * *

Chapter Four: _Closer_

Despite the Board of Inquiry's recommendation that Trip and T'Pol keep their relationship low-key, they succeeded in treating Catherine and Chuck to a sight-seeing tour of San Francisco by groundcar. The group alighted occasionally to shop, with Trip and his parents accompanied at all times by a petite female "security escort" in Starfleet blue, her regulation cap pulled down low to cover her ears and upswept eyebrows, keeping her features conveniently in shadow. Trip, being a recognizable war hero, was naturally the focus of bystanders' attention, while the "escort" melted into the nondescript background as she stood fast by his side, keeping the autograph hounds and picture-takers at bay. Chuck thought the whole charade was ridiculous, but Catherine got a kick out of watching T'Pol in "undercover mode."

Tonight was the Tucker clan's last evening together. Catherine and Chuck were boarding the transport back to Mississippi in a couple of hours, and soon after, Trip and T'Pol would be reporting to _Enterprise_, and Lorian and Karyn to _Columbia_. Catherine's farewell present for everyone was a home-cooked dinner whipped up in the kitchenette of the newlyweds' VIP suite at Starfleet. The menu was a mix of both human and Vulcan dishes, made with ingredients Catherine had picked up at the international marketplace, and served with a liberal dose of family stories on the side.

"...And upon my completion of the _kahs-wan_," T'Pol was saying, as Karyn and Lorian cleared the dinner dishes from the table, "my parents presented me with my first pet: a sehlat."

Chuck and Catherine traded a look. "Okay, I'll bite," Chuck said. "What's a sehlat?"

T'Pol considered the question. "The domesticated strain is a companion animal, somewhat reminiscent of your Terran ursine species..."

Trip cut to the chase. "Saber-toothed bear. About the size of a grizzly—eight feet high, six hundred kilos."

His parents both gaped at T'Pol. "You were _seven?_" Catherine sputtered.

T'Pol nodded matter-of-factly. "That is quite old enough to take on the duty of caring for a pet."

Chuck still looked doubtful. "And they gave you this thing for a _good_ reason?"

"I survived the ritual," she acknowledged.

"Uh-huh." Chuck scratched his chin, not looking at all convinced. "This growin' up on Vulcan just sounds better and better."

T'Pol seemed vaguely puzzled by his reaction. "I understand that having pets teaches human children responsibility as well."

Catherine laughed. "Not usually by threat of death or dismemberment."

Snickering, Trip turned to Lorian as he and Karyn brought the desserts and fresh plates to the table. "How're you and Soval doing with Vulcan Training School, Embassy Branch?"

"We have made an interesting discovery," Lorian said. "It appears I am not a conventional melder."

Chuck helped himself to a slice of pecan pie. "'Conventional' and 'melder' don't go together in the first place."

Catherine shushed him. "Then what are you?" she asked Lorian.

"An empath," he replied, with some bemusement. "I access emotions alone, rather than thoughts, when I initiate a mind-meld."

T'Pol's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Indeed?"

"He can even 'see' emotions," Karyn added, as she dished out helpings of the Vulcan dessert Catherine had made.

"More precisely, images of events associated with strong emotion," Lorian clarified.

"I'll be damned," Trip said.

Chuck looked up from his wary examination of the Vulcan dish. "What the hell good is bein' able to read somebody's emotions?"

Lorian sighed softly. "We are still attempting to determine that," he admitted. "Bringing hidden emotion to light can reveal truths and expose deceptions. They are illustrative of psychological states. Perhaps as an investigative or therapeutic tool..."

"Do you feel the emotions you are sensing?" T'Pol asked quietly.

Lorian marveled at her perception, a match for his birth mother's intuitive insight. She had always understood his emotions, better than he did himself at times. "Yes," he confessed. "I am still unaccustomed to the power of emotions encountered directly in a meld. They can be somewhat draining."

T'Pol sat forward, unable to conceal her concern. "You must protect yourself, Lorian."

"Rest easy, Mother," he reassured her. "The ambassador is instructing me in the intricacies of mental shielding. Once _Columbia_ is underway, I will focus on refining the melding ability itself. What I require most is practice."

T'Pol relaxed a little. "Very well." Beside her, Trip gave Lorian a nod of confidence.

Chuck was cautiously tasting his Vulcan dessert. His face soured at once. "Gaaaaah."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Yes, Chuck...?"

He pushed the dish well away. "You don't have to climb into my head to read _my_ emotions. What is that stuff?"

"It's called—wait, I have it here." Catherine checked her recipe notes, pronouncing the words carefully. "_Krei'la yon-savas boshak-tor_. A cobbler made with a Vulcan fruit. It's a classic there. You tasted it in the kitchen, remember?"

"Oh. I thought it wasn't all the way cooked yet." Chuck grimaced as Lorian spooned a generous glop of the stuff onto his pecan pie and dug in.

"That's the point of taste-testing, hon," Catherine said dryly. "To see how the food _tastes_." She turned to T'Pol, who was sampling the cobbler. "I'm more interested in the Vulcan opinion anyway."

T'Pol nodded her approval. "You have indeed captured the traditional tartness. It is a difficult task for a cook unaccustomed to handling _yon-savas_."

"I find it agreeable as well," Lorian put in.

"What'd I tell you?" Trip beamed. "Mom has the gift."

"Oh, stop it," Catherine said with a blush. She watched amusedly as Chuck guzzled half a glass of tea to wash the _yon-savas_ taste out of his mouth. "I guess we'll have to bring our own food with us when we get to Vulcan."

"Unnecessary," T'Pol replied. "The influx of humans to Vulcan for work and study has resulted in plentiful sources of Terran-style cuisine."

Chuck was staring at his wife in horror. "'When we get to Vulcan'...?"

"He's losing color," Trip observed. "Quick, more pie."

Ignoring her husband, Catherine turned to Karyn. "You weren't baby-sitting grizzly bears when you were seven. What were you up to?"

"I kept pretty much to myself back then," Karyn recalled. "Most likely I was behind my mother, peeking around her to see what was happening. I did a lot of hiding and watching."

Trip regarded Lorian with mock surprise. "Son, you married a voyeur."

Lorian paused between bites of his dessert. "It has its advantages," he remarked. Catherine burst into laughter.

* * *

The guys in Callahan's band had certainly not wasted any time. First there was the poem excerpt Kyle found taped to the door of the mini-freezer under the bar when she came in to the club the day after Jon's surprise visit.

_O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;  
__The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;  
__The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,  
__While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring._

Then there was the collage of Captain Archer pictures, culled from the news sites and gossip rags, that mysteriously showed up on the bar's computer monitor in place of the Callahan's logo screen. And the songs the band played while Kyle was on duty sounded suspiciously tailored to her status as Jon's new girlfriend: "Stairway to the Stars," "Moonlight Becomes You," "I Concentrate On You." Callahan didn't actively participate in the teasing campaign, but he didn't do anything to stop it. In fact, he seemed to be having far too good a time watching from the sidelines.

At least the boys didn't spend _all_ their time being jokesters. A few minutes ago, Kyle had gone to the stockroom for a couple of bottles of José Cuervo, and she'd found a small package waiting for her at the bar on her return. Naturally, the wrapping paper was a page from a glossy magazine article about Jon. She unwrapped it to find a jewelry box containing an elegant gold pin in the shape of a bow and arrow. It was subtle and beautiful, and she loved it immediately. _A bunch of mushball romantics, that's what they are_, she thought as she fastened the pin to her vest.

It was early; a few customers had trickled in, none as far as the bar. Kyle watched idly as the band guys showed up onstage, one by one, to begin tuning up. Gene saw the pin on her vest and did an impromptu riff from the "William Tell Overture" on his sax, which made her smile.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kyle saw someone slip into a seat at the far end of the bar. She turned to greet her new customer—and was startled to see that it was Jon. Right here, in front of God and man. He was out of uniform this time, looking well-rested and casually gorgeous in a long-sleeved tee and jeans.

Kyle approached, smiling pleasantly, careful to keep a professional distance between them. "Hello, Captain."

Jon's answering smile was equally pleasant. "Hi." He nodded to her bow-and-arrow pin. "Nice."

"A gift from the boys in the band."

"Oh." Jon glanced curiously in the band's direction. A couple of the guys gave him a wave. "Did you, ah..."

"I didn't say a thing," Kyle assured him. "They're just really nosy."

Jon nodded. "I have one of those, too."

"So what can I get you, Captain?"

He surveyed the array of potables on display behind her. "I'd like a picture, please."

Kyle blinked. "Excuse me?"

"A picture of you," he repeated. "To bring with me on my long, long journey."

Kyle felt an idiotic smile beginning to take possession of her face. "You're serious."

"Of course," he said.

Then Kyle's face fell. "Um, my apologies, sir, but I'm notorious for not liking my picture taken. Just ask Callahan."

"But...you _must_ help me." Jon leaned closer, his voice an earnest entreaty. "You see, the only face I have now to gaze at as I fall asleep is...my dog's."

Kyle laughed. "I appreciate the sentiment, Captain, but honestly, I don't have—"

He pointed past her shoulder. "I was thinking, that one."

Amid the liquor bottles lined up behind the bar, there were a few stray snaps tacked up here and there. Kyle had completely forgotten about them. She took down the picture Jon had pointed out: a shot of her in Golden Gate Park from the staff picnic last year. She had a wildflower tucked into her hair. "This?"

He nodded. "I noticed it during the reception."

He had seen little things like this back then? Kyle liked the sound of that. She took a closer look at the picture. "This is a year old, y'know." She frowned. "It has beer stains on it."

"I like it." He tilted his head around to look at the photo too. "Whoever put that flower in your hair had an eye for beauty."

She knew he was fishing, but it didn't make the compliment any less pleasing. "I did that," she said. "It was an employee picnic. I went solo."

Jon ducked his head a little, looking both self-conscious and relieved. Kyle couldn't help liking that too. "Callahan's been worried sick that I'd die an old maid," she remarked.

"He shouldn't worry," Jon said with a smile.

"That's what I keep telling him," Kyle replied. "That I've just been waiting for the right person." She put the photo on the bar and slid it casually across to him. "So where's my picture?"

He looked surprised. "You're kidding. Aren't you sick of looking at my picture? _I'm_ sick of looking at my picture."

"I don't mean a 'Captain Archer, Savior of the Universe' picture. I mean a _Jon_ picture."

"Oh," he answered. She saw that sweet shyness flitting across his handsome face, the same way it had on the first day he had come to Callahan's.

_What the hell_. She leaned on the bar, gazing directly into his eyes. "Preferably in green. You looked mighty fine in that green outfit the other day."

To her delight, Jon appeared to forget how to talk under her focused gaze. Finally he cleared his throat. "I don't make a habit of carrying photos of myself around with me."

"We'll see about that." She held out her hand. "Wallet, please."

Curious, he pulled out his wallet. Kyle motioned for him to open it. He did so, flipping through the contents as she watched. Starfleet photo ID, driver's license—Jeez, he even looked good in that photo? There was _no_ justice—until she found what she was looking for. It was a picture of Jon holding the cutest little beagle, and smiling that heart-stopping smile that turned Kyle's insides all warm and tingly. He was even wearing a green shirt.

She pointed. "That one."

He looked at it. "That's a picture of Porthos."

"You're in it, aren't you? That's green you're wearing, isn't it? I'll take it."

He seemed totally nonplussed. "Okay."

As he took out the photo, she saw a faint blush rising to his cheeks. "When was the last time you did this?" she asked.

"Courted a lady? It's been a while." He smiled faintly, looking disarmingly vulnerable. "Felt this way about a lady? In so short a time? Never."

He set the photo on the bar, sliding it across to her. Kyle saw that his hand was trembling ever so slightly. She took the photo, her fingertips brushing against his. She longed to take his hand and hold it—but not here, in public. "Hey," she said. "I've waited a long time to fall in love. Now that it's finally happening—"

She stopped as Jon's eyes flew up to meet hers. He seemed astonished. Kyle put a hand to her mouth, feeling both exhilarated and frightened. "Did I say that?" _What now? Kiss him? Crawl under the bar?_

Jon's surprise gave way to something that looked exquisitely happy. "I won't tell."

Now it was Kyle's turn to blush. Her gaze dropped to the photo clutched in her hand. "So when do I get to meet Porthos?"

With an enigmatic smile, Jon stood and beckoned, heading toward the stairway alcove. She watched him in bafflement. _What does he expect me to do now?_

Then she noticed Enrique emerging from the alcove. He gave Jon a respectful nod as they passed, then came to the bar. "What're you doing here, K?" he asked Kyle brightly. "You have someplace else to be."

Kyle threw up her hands. "Does everyone know what's going on except me?"

"Probably," Enrique chuckled.

xx-xx-xx

Jon was sitting across from Callahan at the big man's spacious, messy desk when Kyle peeked into the office. "Boss?" she said in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"This happens to be my office, Kyle," Callahan replied with exaggerated dignity. Jon hid a smile.

Kyle rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. You never—" She stopped as a four-footed tricolor missile launched out of Jon's lap, headed straight for her. She knelt to intercept it, but was defenseless against its bright brown eyes and vigorously wagging tail.

Jon stood, making formal introductions. "Kyle MacMillan, this is Porthos."

Kyle stroked the beagle's silken head. "Pleased to meet you, Porthos." She received an enthusiastically slurpy kiss in return.

"Better hello than _I_ got," Callahan observed.

"She's prettier than you are," Jon shot back good-naturedly.

Callahan shook his head. "Now I got the both of ya stealin' away my best bartender."

"Don't worry," Jon said. "In a few minutes, we'll be out of your hair and she'll be all yours.""You kiddin'?" Callahan headed for the exit. "After you're gone, it'll be worse. She'll be moonin' over your letters, gettin' the drink orders all wrong..." He stopped, giving the captain a look of warning. "You _are_ gonna write her, aren't ya? I mean, after all this buildup..."

Kyle was still fussing over Porthos, but Jon saw her sneak a hopeful glance at him. He smiled at her. "I guess I'd better."

"Damn straight, you better," Callahan declared. "I been waitin' forever for her to settle down." With that, he departed.

Jon knelt on the floor beside Kyle, watching in silence as she continued to pet the dog. "So," she said, "I guess this is it." Her light tone sounded a little strained.

"I'm due back on _Enterprise_ in an hour," he replied. "We launch at 0600."

More silence, more petting. Porthos whined softly, sensing disquiet in the room. Kyle asked the next question quickly, as if in a rush to get it over with. "How long will you be gone?"

"Three months."

She looked up at him, her eyes huge and stricken. "Three _months?_"

He took her hands in his. "It's a special assignment..." He faltered and stopped, restricted from saying any more.

Kyle seemed to understand. She nodded resolutely, regaining most of her practical demeanor. "All right. Starfleet gets you now." She fixed her gaze on his, gripping his hands more tightly for emphasis. "But when you get back, it's _our_ turn."

"You got a deal." Jon felt himself admiring the hell out of her...

_I'm falling in love with her._

Before he arrived here tonight, he wondered whether he'd been jumping to conclusions because he'd lost Erika, because he wanted so desperately to believe Karyn. It had all happened impossibly quickly. But now, everything felt right.

"So," he said, trying to sound casual, "where do I write you while I'm gone?"

Kyle looked charmed. "You really want to write me?"

He nodded. With a grin, Kyle grabbed a notepad and pen off Callahan's desk and wrote down her Worldnet address. She tore off the paper, handed it to him, then held the pad out. "Now you."

"Me?" Jon was surprised by how pleased her request made him feel.

She hesitated. "Unless your location is classified or something."

"No, no. You'll be rerouted a few times, but it'll get to me." He wrote down _Enterprise's_ comm signature and handed the pad back.

She looked at the string of numbers with a touch of giddiness; evidently she realized only a handful of people were in possession of it. "Will what I send be...private?"

"Completely." Jon raised an eyebrow. "What exactly were you planning on sending?"

Kyle let loose a full-throated laugh. "Nothing like that!" She eyed him speculatively. "But now that you bring it up...what'd you have in mind?"

He felt a pleasantly carnal flush. "Careful. A question like that could get a man's imagination working overtime."

Her tone grew playfully sultry. "That's the general idea."

They were drawing closer to each other, like magnets. "You're driving me crazy, you know," Jon murmured. "I have to leave in a couple of minutes."

Kyle's low voice beckoned him even nearer. "Just making sure you come back."

"I'll be back." He reached up and caressed her cheek, allowing himself to fall into the deep blue of her eyes...and then he was kissing her, twining his fingers in her hair, losing himself in her. She returned his kiss urgently, her hands moving over his back, sliding further down, pulling him close. He grabbed her hips and pressed himself against her, groaning into her mouth as a rush of desire shuddered through him.

Finally they broke apart, trying to catch their breath. "My God, what are you doing to me?" he gasped.

She nuzzled his throat. "Giving you something to think about when you look at that picture."

Jon could still feel his body responding to her nearness. "You've certainly done that." Reluctantly, he pulled away from her. They smiled wistfully at each other, still holding hands. Words suddenly seemed hopelessly inadequate.

"Be safe," Kyle said softly.

"You, too." Jon gave her one more quick, thorough kiss before scooping Porthos up and leaving. It took all the will power he had not to look back.

-tbc-


	5. Loose Ends

**Redivivus  
**by HopefulR

Rating: G  
Disclaimer: _Star Trek: Enterprise_ is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

A/N: Thanks to my betas slj91 and boushh. Book excerpt by Mark Twain.

* * *

Chapter Five: _Loose Ends_

_July 17, 2154_

_NX-01 Enterprise  
en route to the Barrens_

_It was cold here, harsh and overbright. Everything hurt. T'Pol shivered._

_She heard a sound...a soft, plaintive cry. Squinting against the light, she began searching, guided by an instinct of which she had been previously unaware._

_It came again, a tiny wail. T'Pol sensed bewilderment, aloneness. She broke into a run, rushing heedlessly through the forbidding landscape, driven entirely by intuition—_

_There. It was a child, weeping. She was a fragile thing, blond-haired and delicately beautiful, with deep blue eyes made even darker by her tears. She appeared human, save for her gracefully pointed ears._

_The child reached toward her, yearning—_

T'Pol awoke with a start.

She was alone in her bunk, in her quarters on _Enterprise_. The chronometer across the room read 01:37. She sat up, taking in the familiar surroundings, slowly getting her bearings. Where was Trip?...She remembered now. He had stayed past his shift in engineering to oversee the replacement of a malfunctioning EPS conduit, and had told her he preferred to "crash in his own bunk" rather than disturb her sleep.

She felt him before the cabin door slid open. He entered swiftly, still dressed in his sleeping attire, both mind and body telegraphing his concern. "T'Pol? What happened?"

"Did you see her?" she asked.

He knelt beside her. "I didn't see anything, darlin'. I just felt you—I knew something strange was going on."

T'Pol didn't respond immediately; she was still sorting out the feelings and images swirling inside her mind. "_T'hai'la?_" Trip prompted worriedly.

"I believe it was a dream," she said at last.

He looked oddly at her. "I thought Vulcans didn't dream."

"Normally, they don't." Faintly, she shrugged, a gesture picked up after spending so much time among humans. "Perhaps I do now, because of you."

He ventured an uncertain little smile. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

T'Pol looked down at her hands, clasped fitfully in her lap. "I saw a child, Trip. Our child, yours and mine."

She felt surprise from him, and then a rush of sweet joy. "Really?"

She nodded, feeling strangely compelled by the lingering vision, but also vaguely confused. "I do not understand why I would have such a dream."

Trip regarded her in silence for a moment, contemplating her mixed feelings. "There was a psychiatrist on Earth a couple hundred years ago, Freud. He said every dream is a wish."

It was an agreeable notion. T'Pol met Trip's eyes, seeing the same loving warmth there that she felt through the bond. She allowed herself the tiniest of smiles, and he beamed at her.

Feeling more at peace about the dream, she tilted her head, studying him thoughtfully. "It would not be logical for us to have children while we are both still serving on _Enterprise_."

"That makes sense." Propping an elbow on the bunk, he took T'Pol's hand. "So what'd he look like? The baby?"

"It was only a dream, Trip."

"C'mon," he playfully wheedled.

T'Pol relented. "_She_ had blue eyes and blond hair."

He smiled again, delightedly. "She?"

"And Vulcan ears."

He eased up to sit beside her. "I guess that's what you want, then. A girl."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "By that reasoning, you wish for a boy."

"I want both!" he laughed.

"I would want a healthy child," T'Pol said reasonably.

"That sounds like what Lorian's parents said. Hey, wait—that's us." Trip chuckled as he slipped his arms around her.

T'Pol leaned into him. The image of the child's weeping still unsettled her. "She was alone, Trip. She reached out to me, but I couldn't touch her."

"Maybe that means you're afraid we might not be able to have kids." Trip held her closer. "Don't worry, darlin'. Phlox'll take care of that sooner or later."

"It is by no means a certainty," she said quietly. "Lorian's birth defied all probability."

"But it happened. And it'll happen again, you'll see." Trip stroked two fingers along her cheek in a gentle _ozh'esta_.

T'Pol sighed softly as the bond resonated with his touch. She lay back, drawing him atop her, wrapping her legs around him. She needed to feel his weight, the closeness of his body, the beat of his heart.

He leaned down to kiss her. "In the meantime, we can always dream."

* * *

_August 28, 2154_

_North Star  
The Delphic Expanse_

Every weekday afternoon at about two, Sheriff MacReady would take a turn around the town. He'd wind up his rounds at Miss Bethany's schoolroom, where he would stand in the doorway and listen to the tail end of class before she let the children loose for the day.

Today, though, the schoolroom was empty, and still not yet three o'clock. But it didn't take much figuring where everybody was, it being a pleasant day and all. MacReady found the class by the stream at the east edge of town, in the shade of the big green tanglewood tree—a patch of color in this pale, parched place. The children were gathered around Bethany, who was reading aloud to them from that little contraption Archer had given her.

"_...And got to thinking over our trip down the river; and I see Jim before me all the time: in the day and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we a-floating along, talking and singing and laughing. But somehow I couldn't seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the other kind..."_

Lately Bethany had been reading Earth books to them from the Time Away. For the last couple of weeks, it had been a "great American novel" by an author who had come to prominence soon after the Abduction.

"_...I'd see him standing my watch on top of his'n, 'stead of calling me, so I could go on sleeping; and see him how glad he was when I come back out of the fog; and when I come to him again in the swamp, up there where the feud was; and such-like times..."_

The kids were enthralled, not a one fidgeting or eyes wandering. They couldn't get enough of this boy Finn. A few of the townsfolk had even reported to MacReady, with more than a little consternation, that several of the children had taken to talking in Huck's distinctive lingo around town.

"_...I was a-trembling, because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself: 'All right, then, I'll GO to hell.'"_

Several of the students gasped and cheered. As Bethany glanced up at the group, enjoying their reaction, she spotted MacReady standing beyond them, listening. She smiled briefly at him before she kept on reading.

"_It was awful thoughts and awful words, but they was said. And I let them stay said; and never thought no more about reforming. I shoved the whole thing out of my head, and said I would take up wickedness again, which was in my line, being brung up to it, and the other warn't. And for a starter I would go to work and steal Jim out of slavery again; and if I could think up anything worse, I would do that, too; because as long as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole hog."_

More spontaneous applause. Bethany lowered the padd. "We'll stop there for today."

There were groans and hollers of protest from the class. "You can't!...What about Jim? How is Huck gonna steal Jim back?...He's not really going to hell, is he?..."

Bethany tapped her pendant watch. "It's already past three. Time to go home."

Reluctantly, the children began to gather their things, still grumbling. "But we want to hear more...just a little?...Please, Miss Bethany?"

MacReady had to hand it to Bethany. He'd never known a pack of kids to beg their teacher to let them stay _longer_ in school.

Bethany smiled at them, without giving an inch. "It's a beautiful day. Go enjoy it. We'll read more tomorrow."

One of the older girls spotted MacReady standing a few yards away. "Aw, she's done. See?" She pointed in the sheriff's direction, and several other girls burst into giggles, which Bethany silenced with a look. The girls scampered off with the rest of the class, waiting until they were a few yards away before breaking into twitters again.

Bethany began packing a well-worn carpetbag with her padd, a small chalkboard, and other school whatnot. "Good afternoon, Sheriff," she greeted him warmly.

He approached her, tipping his hat. "Afternoon, Miss Bethany." He looked off at the departing girls. "What was that all about?"

She shrugged offhandedly. "A few of the girls have decided that you have designs on me."

"Designs?" he echoed warily. It was true that Bethany had become an increasingly peaceable presence in his life these last few months. He'd actually gotten to where he could say more than three words at a time to her. But that didn't necessarily mean—

"Well, you do walk me to school every morning," she pointed out. "And you come by every afternoon, even though the Uprisers haven't given me trouble in quite a while."

"That's _why_ they don't give you trouble," MacReady said, with some exasperation. Hell, was Bethany saying he had designs on her now?

She laughed softly. "The truth isn't nearly so romantic as what they're supposing."

MacReady looked uncertainly at her. Damn, but women were a confusion. "So what'd you tell them?"

She gave him a gentle smile, the one he liked best...the smile that seemed to say everything would be fine. "I told them that where you go is your business, and I'm glad of your company, Uprisers or no." She shut her carpetbag and stood up. "Shall we?"

MacReady couldn't help but smile back at her. "Surely." He hoisted the carpetbag for her, and they started back into town. "That Huck Finn, he reminds me of you," he remarked.

"Is that so?" Bethany said with amusement. "A scalawag twelve-year-old boy?"

"No," he said patiently. "I mean, someone who thinks slaves ought to be treated the same as anyone else, and who's willing to risk his own freedom to do right by one."

She nodded graciously. "I don't mind being compared to _that_ scalawag."

"Were you always like this?" he asked. "So all-fire determined to help folks? Gettin' yourself in trouble?"

Bethany was silent for a bit. "My parents believed the Skagarans paid their debt a long time ago. And the way they were being treated wasn't right, and there ought to be an end to it, and peace."

"Mighty unpopular, your parents, I take it."

"They were wise enough to keep their views to themselves when it mattered," Bethany admitted. "They had a family to think about." She turned to MacReady. "I've lived my whole life hoping for the peace they talked about. It's why I wanted to be a teacher—to help balance the unfairness of things. This new generation can learn from the mistakes of those who came before, Sheriff. It's important for someone around here to have listened and learned—"

"—Because when Archer and his people show up again, he needs to see that we're worth taking back with him to Earth," MacReady finished with a good-natured chuckle. He'd heard that one enough times to say it in his sleep.

Bethany stopped and stared at him. For a moment MacReady thought she'd taken his teasing the wrong way, but then she smiled. "You said 'when'."

"What?"

"'When' Archer comes. Not 'if'." She looked pleased. "I remember a couple of months ago when you believed he wasn't coming back at all."

The steady gaze of her clear blue eyes was unnerving. MacReady looked down, scuffing at a stray weed growing up between the planks of the boardwalk. "I guess you've done ruined me with all this positivity of yours."

When he looked up at her again, she was blushing faintly, her cheeks a pretty rose color. All of a sudden, he found himself wondering if those kids of hers might be right...

But his pleasant thoughts faded as a curious frown creased her brow. She dashed off the boardwalk into the street, searching the sky expectantly.

Then MacReady heard it, too: a high-pitched hum from above, getting louder. He set down the carpetbag and followed Bethany into the street, more cautiously, scanning the townspeople, checking their reactions as they also became aware of the sound .

A few seconds later, the flying craft hove into view, circling the center of town before descending toward Main Street. It looked like the ship Archer had arrived in last year, all right. By the time it settled to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust, a few dozen folks—including pretty much all of Bethany's students—had gathered to watch.

MacReady, satisfied that there were no troublemakers in the crowd, made his way up front. Bethany was already there, of course, eager and unafraid. She was standing so close to the craft that he was tempted to pull her back, but he didn't. "They must've won that war," she said.

"I reckon so." Then MacReady saw that the name on the side of the craft was _Columbia_, not _Enterprise_. "Bethany..."

The side hatch swung open with a soft hiss. Instead of Archer, a dark-haired woman emerged, a bit younger than MacReady. She wore a blue Starfleet outfit, same as Archer, and moved with the authority of a leader. Behind her came an older man, dressed the same, whose pointed ears and calm face reminded MacReady of Archer's first officer, T'Pol. A couple of those soldier types brought up the rear, their weapons visible but not threatening.

The woman in the lead scanned the townspeople, casual-like, but MacReady could see that her gaze was sharp, missing nothing. Within seconds, she settled her attention on him. "Sheriff MacReady?" she said pleasantly.

He stepped forward. "Yes, ma'am. I'm Mike MacReady."

"I'm Captain Erika Hernandez of the starship _Columbia_, and this is my first officer, Commander Lorian." The woman offered her hand, and MacReady shook it. Her grip was firm. MacReady recalled Bethany teaching in school that men and women on Earth were looked on as equals nowadays....It was a mite different seeing it standing right in front of him, wearing long pants.

"What about Captain Archer?" Bethany was standing beside MacReady now, looking concerned. "Did something happen to him during the war—to his ship?"

"He's fine now," Hernandez said. "He lost a lot of good people in battle, but the war is over, and a great threat to the galaxy has been eliminated." She smiled. "In fact, Captain Archer and his crew are considered war heroes, Miss..."

"Bethany Dolan."

The captain's eyes lit with recognition. "Captain Archer spoke quite highly of you, Miss Dolan." She turned back to MacReady. "Both of you. He wanted very much to return himself and personally take part in the preparations for your people's return to Earth. However, he was needed elsewhere. _Enterprise_ has been sent on a special mission."

MacReady glanced at Bethany. Mostly, she looked happy, but he could see the disappointment in her eyes. He gave her a sympathetic little smile. "I guess we were both right about him coming back," he murmured.

* * *

_Vulcan Embassy  
San Francisco, Earth_

T'Shara's presence on the diplomatic staff had already made a remarkable difference, Soval noticed.

She took to the duties of her second career quite effortlessly. Her years of extensive traveling as an archaeo-linguist, interacting with a variety of cultures and personalities, had only improved her already-keen powers of observation. After a mere two days of watching the ongoing negotiations between representatives of the High Council and Starfleet, T'Shara noted Minister Tehnat's contrariness, Commander Gibran's tendency to agree with the strongest voice in the room, Minister Lautuv's dogged adherence to now-outdated Vulcan tradition, and Commodore Zhukov's nostalgia regarding the old Warp Five Project delays. Moreover, she determined methods of compensating for these conflicts in ways that did not offend any dignitary, but made them feel as if their perspectives were of prime importance. She demonstrated endless patience, as well as an appreciation for Terran humor, which quickly enamored her to the humans, though she somehow managed to avoid giving offense to the Vulcans. Soval was most impressed.

Working across the hall from T'Shara at the embassy these past weeks had been as agreeable as Soval remembered. Their conversations were stimulating, her ideas thought-provoking, and her solutions to problems ingenious enough to make him feel the student rather than the teacher.

Most important of all, T'Shara did not appear inconvenienced by Soval's slower step, and she made no comment when he wore extra robes to compensate for the chill of the evening. She looked beyond his silver hair and lined face, seeing the man within, who felt ageless in her sweet presence. Though she made it clear that she still considered him attractive, she refrained from acting on her desire, as promised. Her restraint only served to make her more appealing to him.

This evening, as they proceeded from the embassy toward their apartments in the compound, side by side as always, they discussed the matters of the day. "The news regarding the Vulcan fleet is unsettling," T'Shara said. "It is dangerously undermanned now that T'Pau had sacked most of the High Command."

Soval's hands seemed uncharacteristically intent on fidgeting; he clasped them behind his back as he and T'Shara walked on. "Fortunately, there has been an increase in the number of new applicants to the service," he said. "The influx of alien visitors to Vulcan appears to have given rise to curiosity regarding other worlds."

"I would postulate that curiosity among our people has been more prevalent than previously assumed," T'Shara noted. "The advent of the Kir'Shara may have enabled some to express it more openly."

"On that point, I agree."

They both fell silent for the moment. Soval chose to take advantage of the lull in conversation. "I have decided," he said, endeavoring to keep his voice even.

"Yes?" T'Shara inquired with calm interest.

"We should marry."

She did not so much as break her stride, but her moonlit face took on a glow that only enhanced her extraordinary beauty. "I concur," she said serenely.

Soval nodded, satisfied, and relaxed as he resumed their previous discussion. "Do you think the Council would consider using Starfleet officers in the interim, until new Vulcan recruits can be trained?"

"Difficult to say," T'Shara replied thoughtfully. "I am uncertain whether Minister T'Pau's tolerance for humans has reached that degree of confidence..."

When they arrived at T'Shara's quarters minutes later, she held her door open, turning to him with a look of contented expectation. Without hesitation, Soval accepted her invitation, entering her home and her life for good and all.

-tbc-


	6. Peace

**Redivivus  
**by HopefulR

Rating: G  
Disclaimer: _Star Trek: Enterprise_ is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

A/N: Pull up a comfy chair. The chapters are going to be _long_ from here on in. I guess I had a lot to say, LOL.

Thanks as always to my wonderful betas boushh and slj91. Song lyrics at the end of the chapter by Arthur Freed.

Note: In my mind, Henry Archer died when Jon was twelve, so I'm ignoring the reference in _Daedalus_ to Archer's father dying sometime after he entered flight school.

* * *

Chapter Six: _Peace_

_August 30, 2154_

_NX-01 Enterprise  
The Barrens_

As Archer strode down the dimly-lit corridor toward Emory's quarters, he was gripping T'Pol's scanner so tightly that he thought it might snap in two.

It had all been a lie. Sub-quantum transportation, this trip to the Barrens, the reason _Enterprise_ had been yanked off of the Expanse mission. All of it. Emory had lied to Archer, to Admiral Gardner, to Starfleet. He had dangled an offer in front of the brass that they couldn't resist—the miracle man producing another miracle—and they had fallen all over themselves to accommodate him.

Miguel Burrows was dead because of the lie.

Archer felt his fury rising in his throat, threatening to choke him. With an effort, he paused in the shadows and focused inward, breathing the way Soval had taught him on the journey home from Vulcan. Gradually he regained control...more of an icy calm than anything approaching tranquility, but it was all he could manage.

Five minutes later, it didn't make any difference. Archer's thin veneer of composure stood no chance against the revelation that Emory, unwilling to admit that sub-quantum transportation could never work, had instead knowingly let his own son transport into oblivion. Even as Emory went on about bringing Quinn back, it wasn't about Quinn. It was all about Emory, just as it had been for as long as Archer had known the man.

Archer sat on the bunk, his head in his hands, as Emory's words hung in the air like empty, meaningless echoes. "I wasn't thinking…I didn't know…I'm sorry…" _Sure, say the magic words and everybody forgets. Right?_

"Please help me, Jonathan," Emory was saying now, as plaintively as a child. "Help me save my son."

Archer got to his feet, his trust shot to hell, along with any regard he had left for his surrogate father. He turned Emory's chair around, forcing the scientist to meet his gaze. "Ensign Burrows was someone's son," he said pointedly.

For an instant, his words penetrated the barriers of denial and rationalization, and he saw a flicker of shame in Emory's eyes.

Archer straightened. "Before I decide how to proceed, I need everything you have on this plan of yours to get Quinn back—your research data, scans of the manifestation, all of it. I'll want Trip and T'Pol to take a look at it."

Emory bristled. "I won't do any such thing." He attempted a conciliatory smile, but it looked strained. "You know that's not the way I work, Jonathan. Just give me another day, and I'll—"

"You're not keeping up with me, Emory," Archer said evenly. "There is no more 'your way.' There is my way, or no way at all. Are we clear?"

Emory's smile darkened into a scowl, but he made no further protest. He stuck a data rod into his terminal and began poking sullenly at his keyboard.

As he waited, Archer's thoughts edged carefully toward the more emotionally difficult fallout from this fiasco: Danica. Emory's duplicity, as infuriating as it was, hadn't come as a complete surprise, given the man's controlling and ego-driven personality. But knowing that Dani had gone along with the deception left Archer feeling more hurt than angry. He had thought this trip was their chance to renew family ties that had faded over the years…but looking back on the last several weeks, he realized in hindsight that she had kept her distance, steering conversations toward talk about him, his new girlfriend, life aboard _Enterprise_—anything but herself. Perhaps it had been an attempt on her part not to lie to him any more than she already had…

"Where's Dani?" he asked.

"Probably off somewhere with that dog of yours," Emory muttered, without looking up. "She spends more time with him than she does with me."

_A non-judgmental source of unconditional love...why am I not surprised?_ Archer rubbed his eyes tiredly and sighed.

Emory handed over the data rod. He looked miffed. "She's hardly said a word to me since your man died."

Archer squinted at him. Was Dani upset with Emory? "Why? Did you keep her in the dark about this, too?"

"She's not an engineer or a physicist, Jon," the scientist replied, with a touch of impatience. "There's no point in my telling her every little detail."

"Little—!" _Breathe, Jon._ "You had her lying to me, and she didn't even know what she was lying about?"

"She knew she was helping Quinn!" Emory said stoutly.

"No, Emory. She was helping _you_." Archer headed for the door; he had to get out of here. He paused in the doorway long enough to give Emory one last, hard look. "The transporter's off limits until you hear from me." He left without waiting for a reply.

* * *

Phlox was still fussing over T'Pol, as Trip hovered nearby, when Archer returned to sickbay. "How's the hand?" he asked.

Phlox gave him the long-suffering look of a doc who'd been trying to treat a kid who wouldn't sit still. "When the commander finally submitted to a proper examination, I determined that the damage isn't permanent," he replied. "It will take time, and doubtless some cosmetic work on my part, but she'll be fine."

Archer looked relieved. "I'm glad to hear that." As he held up a data rod, Trip saw the tense set of his jaw. The captain was angry, very angry. "This is the project Emory's actually here for. Forget about sub-quantum transportation—that was a smokescreen. He's trying to get Quinn back."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "His son is alive?"

"I'm not entirely certain," Archer said carefully. He shut his eyes briefly, taking a measured breath. "I need you two to look at Emory's research and give me your take on it."

Hearing Emory officially confirmed a liar wasn't news to Trip, considering his and Archer's earlier suspicions. Bringing Quinn back from the dead, though—Trip hadn't seen that one coming. He felt horribly disillusioned and damned furious, all at once...which was only a fraction of what the captain must be feeling. Emory had been like family to him.

As Trip took the data rod, he felt a matching wave of concern for Archer from T'Pol. She, too, was sensing the anger and emotional turmoil the captain was keeping tightly reined in. "Understood, sir," she told him.

"We'll get right on it, Cap'n," Trip added.

Archer nodded and headed out. Trip sighed as he fingered the data rod. "Looks like the captain lost himself another father."

"That makes three, doesn't it?" Phlox said. "If one counts Admiral Forrest?"

"Admiral Forrest was an honorable man," T'Pol observed as she rose from the exam table.

"I don't think anybody's gonna make that mistake with Emory." Trip started for the exit with T'Pol. "Is she good to go, Doc?"

"Does it matter?" Phlox said mildly.

"No," they both replied as they left.

Phlox gestured magnanimously to his empty sickbay. "Then by all means, be on your way."

* * *

Jon found Danica in the forward observation lounge, staring at the starless void outside the viewport as she petted Porthos, who sat close beside her. She turned as the door opened, and Jon saw that her eyes were red-rimmed from weeping.

She must have seen something in his expression, because anxiety flooded her face. "It happened again, didn't it? Was someone else—"

"T'Pol was injured," he replied. "But Dr. Phlox says she'll recover."

Dani stood, stricken, looking almost childlike. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

"We know about Quinn," Jon said.

With a soft exhalation, Danica sank back into her chair—collapsed, really. She looked exhausted...relieved of her secret, perhaps, but not free. Regret and guilt still hung over her like a pall. "Dad had been hinting that there would be some kind of risk," she said dully. "I assumed the danger had to do with the power outlay. I had no idea that _Quinn_ would be the danger. God, I didn't even expect this crazy scheme to work." She looked at the floor. "I should have told you."

"Why didn't you?" Jon sat beside her. "Dani, you've never lied to me before. Why now?"

Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head. "Because I couldn't kill him. It took so much work to bring him back..."

Jon was at a loss. "Help me to understand, honey. I want to."

Restlessly, she began petting Porthos again. "After Quinn was lost, Dad didn't want to work, or eat, or even get out of bed. Mom came back to see if she could help, but..." Danica winced. "That lasted about five minutes. Dad used up his compassion quotient with her long before then. Besides, he was bound and determined to die."

"But he had you," Jon pointed out.

She gazed out at the blackness. "I wasn't enough. I wasn't Quinn, so I didn't matter."

He heard the hurt in her voice, the sadness. It had never seemed fair to him that Danica, through no fault of her own, had been relegated to living in Quinn's shadow, always trying to be noticed and loved by her father, just a little. But her gift was with people, rather than machines or theoretical equations. She had a knack for looking past a person's flaws and finding the good in them—their "chewy chocolate center," she'd called it once. Jon had always figured her for a career as a teacher, a diplomat, even a space explorer "seeking out new life," in the best Zefram Cochrane tradition. Quinn had doted on his younger sister, serving as a buffer between her easygoing and forgiving nature and their father's demanding perfectionism. Then Quinn—Emory's favorite, Danica's protector—had vanished.

"But I wasn't _ready_ not to matter." Dani stood, squaring her shoulders. "So when Dad was too weak to fight me anymore, I wheeled him into his lab and left him there. God, but he cursed me. He wanted no part of that room—the birthplace of the sub-quantum prototype that had swallowed up Quinn. But I was hoping the memories would help him to come to terms with Quinn's death and accept it." She chuckled weakly. "The last thing I expected was for him to burst out of there, babbling that he'd figured out Quinn was alive, suspended in some kind of interspatial rift, and he was going to figure out how to rescue him. It was crazy talk." She turned to face Jon once more. "But for the first time since Quinn's accident, he had a spark of life in his eyes. He started eating, that incredible mind of his began working...he was _alive_ again. So I let him go. I even encouraged him."

Jon ached for her. He couldn't fault her for loving her father, but he wanted to strangle Emory for being such a blind, single-minded old fool. "What did you expect to come of it?" he asked.

Danica began pacing. "I was hoping that when he realized he was chasing rainbows and Quinn was really gone, I could harness the momentum and steer him onto one of the other legitimate projects that had been lying fallow. Something real." She smiled wanly. "It didn't quite work out that way."

Jon watched her prowl around the room. "You never said anything in your letters."

"You were in the NX program by that time. You were fast-tracking toward _Enterprise_—you had your own life." Dani fidgeted self-consciously. "And I admit it—I didn't want the other favored son swooping in and taking Dad's attention away…what little I'd managed to get." She shook her head ruefully. "It didn't matter anyway. By that time he was just humoring me, letting me think he was working on other things. I didn't find out until too late that he'd sweet-talked the backers into more funding with lofty promises about the wonders of sub-quantum transportation. Before I could fix that, he contacted Admiral Gardner about securing a warp-five engine to test out his phantom prototype. We were in so deep by that time that if I'd come clean and put a stop to it all…" Her hands fluttered to her sides in defeat. "It would've sucked the life right out of Dad all over again."

There was something about the tense set of her shoulders and the haunted look in her eyes that told Jon there was something more sinister at work. "Is that the only reason you kept quiet?" he asked.

She stood still and silent for a long time, staring out the viewport. Finally she spoke, her voice a dull monotone. "He said I couldn't tell. He said we owed it to Quinn to do everything we could, anything we had to, to get him back."

_We owed Quinn._ Same old calculating, manipulative Emory. He'd blackmailed Dani with her own love for him, and for Quinn...starved her by withholding his own affection, yet kept the tantalizing possibility dangling close by, if only she did all he asked of her.

She turned to Jon, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I should have come to you," she said bleakly. "I feel responsible. You lost a crewman…"

Jon took her firmly by the shoulders. "Honey, listen to me. Emory had no right to put you in the position of having to choose between us. _He_ is the one responsible."

She stared at him, frozen…and then she shut her eyes, seeming almost relieved to hear someone say the words aloud. He felt her shudder beneath his hands, and he was reminded of the phrase "giving up the ghost"…as if she were finally letting go of some long-held hope that had died inside her. He pulled her into his arms and held her, feeling her relax bit by bit as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Do you think we can get Quinn back?" she asked softly.

"I don't know."

Still leaning against him, she looked out at the starless void. "I wonder what it must be like for him, you know? Is he conscious? Is he in pain? Does he think we've given up on him, forgotten about him?..."

He stroked her back soothingly. "Hey, stop torturing yourself."

She pulled away. "Tell me that tomorrow, when all this is finally over." She shook her head in bemusement. "I don't think I'll know what to do with myself when this is over. Getting Quinn back is all Dad has wanted for fifteen years."

"What do _you_ want?" Jon asked.

"I just want to know Quinn is at peace," she said simply.

She looked so tired. "How long has it been since you got any decent sleep?" he asked.

Dani chuckled dryly. "Sleep? What's that?"

"You remind me of me." Jon steered her out of the observation lounge. "Time to turn off your brain for a while."

"This coming from you? Obsessed-With-My-Career Jonathan Archer, from the noted family line of Obsessed Archers?"

He aimed her down the corridor, toward her quarters. "I'm a changed man, remember?"

"Ah, yes. Kyle, your new love." Danica smiled speculatively. "So are you thinking long engagement, or are you going to declare 'carpe diem' and just go for it?"

Jon looked pained. "Why does everyone keep assuming I'm going to marry her?"

Danica eyed at him as if he'd grown antlers. "C'mon, Jon. The picture by the bed, the letters back and forth, the Porthos seal of approval? Seriously, are you going to be the last one to figure it out?"

Jon smiled. "That does seem to be a cosmic maxim with me, now that you mention it..."

* * *

Keeping her injured hand folded neatly behind her back, T'Pol set the data rod on Archer's ready room desk. "Dr. Erickson's theories are highly unconventional," she reported.

Beside her, Trip continued, "But the data he's collected so far does seem to support his claim that Quinn is out there, suspended in some kind of subspace field."

Archer was surprised—and, he had to admit, hopeful. Until this moment, he hadn't allowed himself to emotionally process the flickering, half-formed image of Quinn that T'Pol's scan had captured. He hadn't even dared to acknowledge that it was real. But now… "Are you saying we can get him back? Alive?"

"The possibility exists," T'Pol replied cautiously.

"And so does the danger," Trip said. "The bad news is, if one of those manifestations passes through a stack of torpedoes, or one of the ship's critical systems, game's over. The good news is, we can calculate the intervals when they're gonna show up, so _now_..." —he said the word with pointed emphasis— "...we could prepare for them."

"_Now_ we could," Archer repeated quietly. He thought of Miguel Burrows, and fought down another wave of frustration. _Dammit, Emory, why didn't you just come clean with me as soon as we reached the Barrens? Of course I'd have had a shit-fit, but we would at least have been prepared._ His eyes flicked from Trip to T'Pol. "Emory said he would need another day..."

"He has been conducting detailed scans of the manifestations as they appear, in order to obtain a reliable transporter lock on his son's signal," she explained. "According to the data, one more scan would be necessary. The next interval will occur in five point two hours. Retrieval could theoretically be attempted during the following interval, in another four point eight hours."

Five hours until the next manifestation. What Archer really wanted was time enough to analyze the power signature of the thing and design a force field to protect _Enterprise_ against it, or a confinement field to trap it. How long would that take...five weeks? Five months?

"There is another concern, Captain," T'Pol said. "Quinn's transporter signal is growing weaker. It has been decaying steadily for the past fifteen years. Further degradation will result in an inability to recover him intact."

Archer spread his hands flat on the empty expanse of his desk, visualizing a scale with _Enterprise_ balanced precariously on one side and a lone, helpless Quinn on the other. "Opinions?"

"If you wish to retrieve Quinn, now would be your best opportunity," T'Pol said. "Probability for success will lessen as time passes."

"Assuming you do go through with this…" Trip rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "As the interval approached, we could put the ship on tactical alert, warn the crew, deploy security teams, scan continually for the power signature of the manifestation. I'd also recommend taking all weapons offline and powering down all non-essential systems. Practically everything is being routed to the transporter anyway." He eyed Archer steadily. "But even if we take every precaution, we can't guarantee the safety of the ship and the crew. So the question becomes: is it worth the risk to try to get him back?"

"I've been asking myself that for hours." Archer turned to look out the viewport into the blackness. "A good man is dead who should not have died. Now we know another man is trapped, and we're his only hope of survival. We were brought here under false pretenses, but we're _here_. If we turn the ship around and leave, without even trying to save him..."

He didn't have a chance to finish. Or perhaps he didn't need to. "I will recalibrate the bridge sensors," he heard T'Pol saying quietly to Trip.

As Archer turned back to face them, Trip replied to T'Pol in the same soft tone, "I'll get with Malcolm about taking weapons and non-essential systems offline before the next interval gets here. I have more work to do on the transporter..."

Archer cleared his throat. "So you've decided, have you?"

They both looked at him, wearing matching expressions of innocence. "Didn't you say, Cap'n…?" Trip asked.

Archer knew Trip and T'Pol were only rarely able to speak to each other through the bond. Nevertheless, they had developed a very efficient method of non-verbal communication...which they were obviously using now. Watching them, he was charmed, and a little envious. "I must have," he said with a small smile. Then he grew serious once more. "Burrows' death put us on the right track. If we can do this, he won't have died for nothing." He stood. "All right, we're on a rescue mission now. Let's get to it."

* * *

Working with the demoted-from-godhood Emory Erickson, Trip concluded after less than half an hour, was almost as exasperating as trying to work with the former, insufferably egomaniacal version. The new Emory chafed and fidgeted at his inability to give orders, made all kinds of disapproving faces from behind that padd he was constantly fiddling with, and muttered monosyllabic answers to Trip's questions, when he spoke at all. It was like working with a four-year-old brat who'd been banished to a corner for a time-out. Trip doubted the man had had all that much practice at being courteous; not really a job requirement when you're always the guy in charge. But Emory seemed irritated by the very idea that he had to expend valuable energy just to be civil.

_At least I'm getting my hands dirty again,_ Trip thought with satisfaction as he packed away the equipment from the last diagnostic test. Cut-down-to-size Emory wasn't taking over—or even lifting a finger to help him—this time around. "We're still getting a spike in the array," Trip reported. "I could swap out the emitter coils with something from engineering. That might even it out a bit."

Emory didn't look up from his padd. "Sounds good."

Both men knew full well that Trip was making the suggestion out of politeness, and Emory's approval was a symbolic gesture. But it was better than strained silence. "I'll get on it," Trip said, as he started putting his tools away.

He felt Emory's eyes on him. "I know you don't approve of what I've done," the scientist observed.

_That's the understatement of the year._ Aloud, Trip said, "Do you need my approval?"

"I'm disappointed that you think less of me."

So that's what Emory was really ticked off about: losing a sycophant. And he had the gall to try to make Trip feel guilty about it. "You liked me better when I worshipped your shadow?" Trip asked, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

"Yes."

Trip stared at him. A man was dead, the captain was walking a tightrope trying to save another man's life while keeping _Enterprise_ safe—and here was Emory, still splashing around in a bottomless well of ego. The guy was a real piece of work.

Emory shrugged, unrepentant. "It's an honest answer."

"I would think you'd be out of practice," Trip said bluntly.

Emory went back to studying his padd. "You may want to reserve judgment on my actions until you've lost a son."

Trip shot to his feet, furious, very nearly blurting out, _I do know what it's like! I thought my son was dead, his ship sacrificed to save ours!…_ But Emory hadn't earned the right to be told the intimate details of Trip's private life. Never mind that it was classified information anyway.

Trip took a calming breath as he stowed the rest of his tools. "Ensign Burrows' folks lost their son. I figure they'll be qualified to judge you, as soon as they hear the news." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emory shift uncomfortably in his chair. "I lost a sister last year," Trip went on as he got to his feet. "She was only one of seven million, but she was important to me. And this crew—we lost twenty-six of our own during the war."

Emory hunched down lower, averting his eyes as Trip turned to face him. "I don't begrudge you your loss," he told the scientist. "But you talk as if you're the only person ever to have lost a loved one, or as if your son were more important than those others. That's not the way it is. Surak said, 'The loss of one life is a loss for all'."

Emory covered his self-consciousness with a look of annoyance. "Who the blazes is Surak?"

Trip smiled faintly. "A wise old Vulcan I've read about." He headed out. "I'll be in engineering."

* * *

Archer would remember those few minutes at the transporter as a series of images...

Trip resting a reassuring hand on Emory's shoulder as they all waited.

Danica standing stock-still, arms nervously wrapped around herself, immobilized by apprehension.

Quinn's half-formed body sparkling and shimmering on the transporter pad, hovering between reality and the void.

The sadness in Phlox's eyes as he quietly conveyed the results of his sensor scan, revealing that Quinn wouldn't survive.

Emory's fierce glare as he shook off Archer's hand, refusing to accept defeat.

Quinn cradled in Emory's arms, looking as young as if he'd materialized out of a distant memory, gazing up at his father as his own life gently faded away.

The rescue mission succeeded, if only for a few heartbreaking moments.

-- -- --

After the body was brought to sickbay, Danica made no protest as Emory monopolized Quinn's bedside, showering his lost son with tearful apologies and pleas for forgiveness. Aside from a short conversation she had with Phlox, Dani remained at the perimeter of the room with Jon, her arm linked securely through his as she silently watched.

At last Emory's litany came to an end. He kissed Quinn on the forehead, then lowered himself into his chair, emotionally spent. "All right, Dani, I'm ready."

Danica made no move toward him. "I'm not."

He looked at her in surprise. She turned to Phlox. "Doctor, would you mind taking my father to his quarters?"

"I'd be glad to," Phlox answered easily, crossing to Emory's wheelchair.

_So this is what Dani and Phlox were talking about earlier,_ Jon realized. Now that he thought about it, he had seen no trace of the insecure, affection-starved Danica since his talk with her in the observation lounge.

Emory was clearly flustered, almost upset. "But—my treatment—"

"Phlox will give you your injection," Dani said calmly. "You'll be fine."

"There's nothing to worry about, Dr. Erickson," Phlox added smoothly as he wheeled Emory out. "Off we go then."

Jon caught a glimpse of Emory's expression as he twisted around to look back through the doorway: bewilderment, hurt, even anger. "Dani?—"

Then the doors shut, leaving Danica and Jon alone with their fallen brother. Jon almost felt guilty admitting it, but the quiet was a relief.

At last Dani moved, bringing Jon with her as she went to Quinn's side. For Jon, it was a surreal tableau…like looking into a time warp, seeing a Quinn who hadn't aged a day, who appeared well and whole, merely asleep.

Dani picked up one of her brother's hands and held it. "He never talked about dying, even after Dad's accident." She cocked her head at Jon. "You never talked about it either, when you were testing those NX prototypes that kept blowing up."

Jon shrugged. "It never came up in conversation."

"You fearless young men and your grand experiments." Dani looked down at Quinn again. "I remember the day he left for the Barrens with Dad. He was so excited…"

Jon put his arm around her. "He died doing what he loved, Dani—pushing the boundaries of what was possible."

Carefully, she laid Quinn's hand back down. "And he and Dad were together at the end. That was good for both of them." Arm in arm, she and Jon gazed down at their brother's peaceful face. Softly, Dani said, "I feel as if I've been holding my breath all these years…waiting. It's still hard to take in."

"I know."

"What happens now?" she asked.

Jon kissed her on the cheek. "You live."

* * *

It was a little after 0500 hours as Archer crossed the dark, empty mess hall with a fresh cup of coffee and surveyed the display board that had been put up a few months ago, while _Enterprise_ was in spacedock being refitted after the war. The board was filled now, with shore leave pictures and candid crew photos, reminders of home and family. Archer searched the cluster of faces until he found the snapshots he remembered Miguel Burrows happily tacking up back in April. The ensign had spent part of his leave on a camping trip in Arizona's Canyon de Chelly, accompanied, as had been the tradition for a couple of centuries, by a Din'eh guide who told the stories passed down by his ancestors, and spoke about the ancient Anasazi who dwelled in the canyon millennia ago.

A quiet voice behind him pulled him gently from the world of ancient cliff dwellings and rock glyphs, and the smiling young ensign roaming among them. "You're up early, sir."

Archer turned to see Chief Quartermaster Hendley in the doorway. "I haven't been to bed. What's your excuse, Chief?"

Hendley shrugged as he came over. "Taking care of ship's business. The lighting has been dark for so long, I guess my internal clock quit on me." He offered Archer a padd and stylus. "Ensign Burrows' roommate finished packing up his personal effects. I have them safely stowed for the trip home."

Archer nodded and took the padd. Hendley glanced past him, to Burrows' pictures on the wall display. "Shall I add those, sir?"

Archer turned back to the photos. "Let's leave them up for now. The crew might like looking at them."

Hendley studied the pictures, one by one. "Ever been there?"

"Not yet. I've been to the Expanse, I've time-traveled to the 29th century…but I haven't toured the American Southwest. The Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, Canyon de Chelly…I've always told myself they're not going anywhere, and I'd get there one of these days." Faintly, Archer shook his head. "I should stop putting things off."

"Yes, sir."

With a small sigh, Archer returned his attention to the padd, scanning down the list of Burrows' personal effects. As he signed the form, he said, "I didn't realize he was such an old-movie buff. He had a collection that Trip would envy."

Hendley smiled. "I noticed. His roommate told me that Miguel never missed Movie Night when he was off duty."

Archer remembered Trip mentioning that he was planning to start up Movie Night again, now that the power was back to normal; the films had become a crew staple during the long journey to the Barrens. He'd been asking for suggestions... Archer turned to Hendley. "Was there something Miguel particularly liked?..."

* * *

The return of Movie Night became an impromptu tribute to Miguel Burrows. Chef whipped up an array of the ensign's favorite snacks, and Trip screened one of Miguel's most beloved musicals, _Singin' In The Rain_. The attraction was such a big draw that Trip ran the film three times.

Jon managed to coax Danica to the last showing. They slipped into a couple of seats in the back just as the lights went down and the movie began. Jon spent most of the film watching Dani, simply enjoying the sight of her smiling and laughing. It looked as if she hadn't had a chance to do either for a very long time.

The audience was completely absorbed in the film, nachos and popcorn forgotten, by the climactic sequence—the premiere of the musical-within-the-musical, _The Dancing Cavalier_. Gene Kelly's actor Don Lockwood, playing the musketeer Pierre, lay seemingly moments from death, cradled in the arms of his lady love, played by Debbie Reynolds. "Pierre, you're hurt!" she cried worriedly over him. "Speak to me, speak to me!"

In true fairy-tale form, Pierre sat up, magically restored, with a song on his lips.

_I'll kiss her with a sigh  
Would you? Would you?_

His beloved sang to him in return.

_And if the girl were I  
Would you? Would you?..._

Unexpectedly, Jon heard sniffling beside him. Danica was ducking her head, wiping away tears. "Sorry," she whispered. She gestured toward the door. "I'd better…"

"Sure." He rose and led her out of the mess hall.

In the corridor, Jon gave her a napkin he had grabbed on the way out. Danica leaned against the bulkhead and dabbed at her eyes, looking a little embarrassed. "I didn't mean to pull you out of there."

"No problem." He leaned back beside her, shoulder to shoulder. "You've had fifteen years of emotions pent up inside you, waiting to come out. It's bound to be a little messy."

She managed a laugh. "I guess so. But it feels good to get back to being alive."

He grinned. "If I can do it, anybody can."

Dani returned his smile, but it was short-lived. Out here, away from the fantasy world of songs and happy endings, reality would not be denied. "So how is this going to work when we get home, about hijacking your ship, and your crewman getting killed?"

"I've spoken with Admiral Gardner," Jon replied. "There'll be an inquest to determine culpability for Burrows' death, and how big a role Emory's deception played."

Danica studied the damp, mangled napkin in her hands. "Maybe they'll let me work in the prison infirmary."

He nudged her shoulder in gentle reproach. "Don't throw in the towel just yet. I'm going to speak on your behalf. I know you weren't fully in the loop, and that you were emotionally coerced—"

"No!" Dani looked up sharply. "Don't tell anybody that. It's true that Dad kept some things from me, but as for the other, my goal was just as selfish as his, and just as impossible. I wanted him to love me." She sighed wearily. "Neither one of us got what we wanted. It serves us right."

Jon took her hand. "You told me you wanted Quinn to be at peace."

Dani's eyes welled with tears again, but they seemed to wash away her melancholy, leaving a serenity that reminded Jon of the look he'd seen on Quinn's face as he'd breathed his last. "Yes," she whispered with a smile.

He slipped a comforting arm around her and produced another napkin. Laughing softly, she leaned against him, wiping at her tears as they listened to Debbie Reynolds' effervescent voice drifting out from the mess hall.

_...What a glorious feelin'  
I'm happy again  
I'm laughing at clouds  
So dark up above  
The sun's in my heart  
And I'm ready for love…_

_-tbc-_


	7. Belonging

**Redivivus  
**by HopefulRomantic

Rating: G  
Disclaimer: _Star Trek: Enterprise_ is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

A/N: Thanks to pookha for her always-intriguing musings, which helped fill in some Skagaran backstory for me, and to my betas slj91 and boushh.

* * *

Chapter Seven: _Belonging_

_September 15, 2154  
__NX-02 Columbia  
__in the Delphic Expanse, orbiting planet designated DEL-0309-M_

Lorian was roused from his meditation by the light touch of a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Karyn smiling down at him. "Your meeting with Captain Hernandez is in fifteen minutes," she said.

He took a deep breath to regain full awareness. "She moved it up?"

"No," Karyn replied gently. "You've been under for two hours."

Lorian looked at the wall chronometer in surprise. It had seemed like only minutes...and he was in no better shape than when he began.

"Another headache?" she asked.

He nodded. Ever since his growing empathic ability had begun manifesting through touch a month ago, he had been experiencing difficulty coping with the firestorm of emotions he was able to sense from others. In the last week, he had even begun picking up on emotions over short distances, if they were particularly vivid. Trying to maintain his still-fragile mental shielding was exhausting—and it made his head hurt.

Karyn moved behind him and started massaging his neck and shoulders. It felt wonderful. For a moment he allowed himself to relax into her touch...and almost at once, his fatigue began to overwhelm him. Errant emotions started to drift into his mind from all directions—

With an involuntary shake of his head, he dragged his shields back into place and refocused, until he could feel only Karyn's calming presence. He clung to it like an anchor, steadying himself.

"How long do you think you can keep this up?" Karyn's voice was mild, but he could feel her concern.

"I will have time to recuperate once our assignment here is completed," he replied.

"Spoken like a true Vulcan," she observed dryly.

Lorian sighed. "If only I were."

"Excuse me." Karyn wrapped her arms securely around him, resting her chin on his shoulder as she nestled her cheek against his. "I'm perfectly satisfied with you just as you are."

He held onto her, comforted by the warm mental embrace of her reassurance as much as by the feel of her arms around him. "Still, it is unfortunate that my empathic talent is progressing more quickly than my ability to master it."

Her lips brushed softly against his temple. "You'll get there, love."

They stayed that way, holding each other, letting a few minutes melt away with the meditation candle's flame. Karyn's breath caressed Lorian's cheek like a balm, her nearness soothing the pain in his head and the fatigue in his body. When they finally separated, he felt remarkably refreshed. He regarded his wife with an intrigued smile. "How did you do that?"

Her eyes sparkled. "Never underestimate the restorative power of good old-fashioned bonding."

"Indeed. Perhaps I should meditate this way every morning."

"Fine by me."

They kissed each other, a slow, lingering communion that seemed to energize Lorian even further...as well as put all sorts of ideas in his head that merited more follow-up than present time allowed. Reluctantly, he drew away from her. "If we do any further bonding, beloved, I'll be late for my meeting."

She giggled. "We can't have that." She pulled him to his feet, and they left for the bridge together.

* * *

_Captain's Starlog, supplemental. Lieutenant Commander Ballard has set up shop in an old boarding house on the outskirts of North Star, large enough to accommodate his entire facilitation team, as well as their communications station, lab and vehicles. A permanent comm link has been established with Earth via Echo IV, and the outpost has been stocked with three months' worth of supplies—more than enough to last until the first transports begin arriving from Earth. To help the population get better acquainted with their ancestral homeworld and its recent history, Ballard's team has installed audio-visual databases—similar to those used at visitor centers and cultural landmarks on Earth—at a number of settlements._

xx-xx-xx

_Captain's Ready Room  
__NX-02 Columbia_

Hernandez scanned the report with a thoughtful frown. "Am I reading this correctly?"

"The data is preliminary and partly anecdotal," Lorian replied. "A complete survey will need to be made, but it appears that a significant number of the populace has no interest in relocating to Earth."

Hernandez set her padd down, intrigued. "Explain."

Lorian deferred to the officer sitting next to him: William Ballard, the head of the team of scientists, sociologists and instructors that would remain on the planet to help the humans prepare for their transition to life on Earth. Ballard said, "Many of these people have remained as fiercely independent as their pioneer ancestors, who were abducted, lock, stock, and horses from their wagon trains as they were en route to the then-undeveloped American Southwest. After they regained their independence following the Uprising, they established homesteads on this frontier, much as their forebears had planned to do on Earth in the mid-19th century. They've put down roots here, put their hearts and souls into the land. They're accustomed to the wide open spaces and self-sufficiency that this life affords them, and some prefer to keep it rather than start over on another already-crowded world."

"At least the task of transporting, repatriating, and mainstreaming several thousand out-of-step humans will be a slightly smaller logistical nightmare," Hernandez noted. "How is the orientation going?"

"The databases are a big draw," Ballard smiled. "The local teachers in each settlement have been very helpful, acting as liaisons, operating the databases, fielding questions and so on. Through them, we've received many requests for materials and training to take advantage of various technological advances in transportation and communication. There have also been a lot of inquiries about living relatives on Earth. The teachers have been given a number of family trees for tracing, which we've passed on to Dr. Ellis, our geneological whiz."

"Very good." Hernandez paused, pursing her lips wryly. "And have the humans found a...how shall I put it...a more enlightened perspective regarding other species?"

"To a certain degree," Lorian answered. "The need for tolerance has been acknowledged, if not wholeheartedly embraced, throughout the settlements. After _Enterprise_ departed last year, the residents of North Star instituted a number of laws that guaranteed the Skagarans certain basic freedoms. Several other towns have followed suit."

Hernandez sat back thoughtfully. "What do the Skagarans expect to get out of this, I wonder, if anything? Have they talked to anyone yet? Made requests or demands?"

"My people haven't mentioned anything," Ballard said.

"From what I have observed, they still seem quite wary of confiding in humans," Lorian noted. "Or Starfleet."

"I'm sure they don't miss the indentured servitude, or the middle-of-the-night lynchings," Ballard muttered, shaking his head with disgust.

"I wonder how they'll react when they realize some of the humans will be sticking around," Hernandez said.

Ballard grimaced. "Something tells me they won't be inviting each other to Saturday night square dances any time soon."

"What a mess." Hernandez sighed. "We've been down this road before, too many times. There's no just compensation for a people who have been oppressed for centuries, but we have a responsibility to try to set things right."

"It would be useful to learn the Skagaran perspective on this matter," Lorian said.

Ballard chuckled doubtfully. "It would be useful to get them talking at all."

Hernandez smiled. "I'll wager there's one human they've been confiding in. More or less human, anyway..."

* * *

_North Star_

Bethany couldn't stop marveling.

As she called up the next database entry on the request list—city life, again—she felt the same thrill as the big display screen lit up with those breathtaking views of Earth's cityscapes and their wonders. Buildings high enough to touch the skies, cities that went on for miles, flying machines and ground vehicles that transported folks faster than the eye could follow. She never tired of watching the sights playing on the screen.

The little moving pictures on the data padd that Captain Archer had given her had been jaw-dropping enough. But this database screen that Lt. Commander Ballard and his people had set up in her schoolroom—it was like looking through a picture window, with Earth right on the other side, so close and crystal clear that Bethany imagined she could reach right through and touch it. It was like that book she'd read to the children by Lewis Carroll about Alice and the looking glass.

Folks had been flocking to town ever since word spread of the return of the Starfleet people and the installation of the Earth information database in the schoolhouse. Bethany had been practically living at the school ever since. She spent her days running the database and answering questions about Earth history during the Time Away. Then, come nighttime, after the humans had gone home, the Skagarans would drift in from the dark—nervous, frightened, needing to talk. _What's to become of us?_ they would ask. _When the humans leave, will they take everything?_ As word began to spread that some of the humans would be staying on, the Skagarans got even more scared. _What if Starfleet leaves us alone with the ones who stay on? This isn't their world, after all. What if it goes back to the way it was before, after the Uprising? What if we lose the right to learn, to marry, to be whole people?_

Bethany tried to reassure them, telling them that the Starfleet folk were here to help everyone, not just the humans. But it was hard for Skagarans to trust them. To a people who had been persecuted for centuries, humans were humans.

She had hardly seen MacReady at all for days. There were so many strangers in town, acting up, misbehaving. They were as bad as Uprisers. MacReady had hired on new deputies, but he still had his hands full.

It was past five, and the schoolroom was still pretty busy with the curious and the just plain awestruck, when Bethany put on the database entry for modern-day ranching. As the vid's narrator was talking about how the naturalist movement was the quickest to recover after the devastation of the third world war, Bethany spotted MacReady's familiar black-clad frame in the doorway, silhouetted by the late-afternoon sunlight. She sidled over to him as the vid continued to play. "There you are, stranger!" she whispered with a smile. "Where've you been?"

"Busy," he replied in the same low tone. "Lotta new folks in town today."

She nodded in sympathy. She knew "new folks" was his code for _humans who ignored the signs posted at the town borders reading TOLERANCE LAWS STRICTLY ENFORCED_. Funny how Skagarans could read the signs just fine.

"But what about today?" one of the onlookers asked aloud as the vid ended. He turned to Bethany. "Isn't it all advanced now, like the cities?"

With a grin, MacReady waved Bethany away. She headed back up front. "The naturalists exist side by side with advanced technology on Earth nowadays. Both are vital and productive, serving the wants and needs of different segments of the population. There's room for all views and all kinds there." She started up the next vid, which was on medical advances.

As she returned to MacReady's side, she saw that he was studying her. "You like it, don't you?" he said.

"What?"

"Earth."

"Of course!" Bethany smiled. "I've been teaching about it for most of a year. It's starting to feel comfortable, like I know the place." She looked at the display screen. "It's still a wonder to finally see it, really _see_ it. Not just teeny little pictures of it. How about you? What do you think?"

"I haven't had much chance to look at the stuff here." MacReady nodded toward the screen, which was showing the gleaming glass and metal interior of a modern-day hospital. "It seems a mite too noisy and newfangled for the likes of me."

"Pshaw!" Bethany responded good-naturedly. "We're all three hundred years out of date."

"It's not just that," MacReady maintained quietly. "You've heard how some people are gonna stay on here? This world is just a better fit for them."

She didn't know why, but she felt disappointed. "You think you wouldn't fit on Earth?"

"It's not as if I were, say, a teacher." He gestured to her. "You'll always have a purpose and a place, no matter where you go."

Bethany got the impression that he was sad, somehow, though he was trying to hide it. "Wherever there are people and laws, there's a need for lawmen," she offered.

MacReady took off his hat and fingered the well-worn brim. "Bethany, I'm forty-one years old. Look at the kids those Starfleet people have ridin' shotgun for 'em. They're younger, faster—they can fight like nothing I ever saw. What good is a flintlock when you can have a Colt?"

Bethany drew MacReady to a back corner of the room. "Mike MacReady, I've never seen you run from a challenge or a fight," she admonished him quietly. "You're as determined a person as—well, me. And just as stubborn. A peaceable planet full of new-fashioned gadgetry and newfangled people won't be much of a stumble for you. There's always private security, isn't there? Somebody looking for experience and savvy rather than callow youth and brute strength? You could—"

"Woman, you _are_ stubborn," he broke in.

She saw that he was smiling a little, at least. _That's better._

"I suppose you'll be on the first spaceship to go there, won't you?" he asked.

Bethany hesitated. She hadn't told MacReady about her folks down in South Point—her mother teaching Skagarans openly now, after years of schooling them in secret, and her father, who had gone to live in Skagtown after being disowned by his family for falling in love with a half-breed and wanting to make a life with her. No one here knew of Bethany's Skagaran blood. Casually, she shrugged. "I hadn't really given it much thought."

"What?" MacReady blurted, causing a few heads to turn their way. "You? Miss Positivity, champion of Earth? Isn't this what you've been expecting? Planning for? Bags packed?"

She knew he was only half-teasing. "I have a purpose here," she replied. "Teaching the children, educating people who've waited forever and a day for the right to learn—"

He scoffed. "You're not the only teacher."

She felt her dander rising at his attitude. "I don't see any humans stepping up to do the job. And how many Skagaran teachers are there? Oh, that's right—educated Skagarans have been against the law for three hundred years."

"Starfleet'll have teachers," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Skagarans don't trust Starfleet enough yet," she snapped. "Why are we fussin' about this?"

"I just don't want to see you throwin' away your future!" he said, his voice rising.

"I wouldn't be throwing it away!" she shot back in exasperation. "I'm a teacher!"

"You're _human!_" he declared.

Bethany couldn't believe what she was hearing. MacReady had defended Skagarans, protected them, done right by them for nigh onto a year. Did he still think of them as Skags? A lower form of life?

"Is being human so important?" Her words came out sounding more wounded than she had intended. It surprised her.

He stared at her for a long moment. "Why the hell are you asking me that?"

At that moment, Commander Lorian entered the schoolroom. He pulled up sharply in the doorway, as if he'd collided with an invisible force. After taking a deep, slow breath, he quickly began scanning the room. It was then that Bethany noticed the display screen was conspicuously blank: the vid had ended. Even worse, more than a few people were casting curious glances at her and MacReady. _Oh, lord._ Their argument must have gotten louder than she realized.

When Lorian saw Bethany, he made his way over, calmly ignoring the stares of the onlookers. "Miss Dolan?"

Bethany was only too glad of the interruption. Putting a smile on her face, she turned from MacReady to the officer. "Good day, Commander. What can we do for you?"

Lorian nodded politely to MacReady before replying to Bethany. "Miss Dolan, Captain Hernandez would like to speak with you, if you have time to spare."

"Of course," she said smoothly. Craning her neck, she searched the crowd until she spotted Draysik up front, staring at her like the rest of them, a handful of pictures from the photo catalogue clutched in his hands. He had been a godsend these past two weeks, tirelessly helping her out here while he soaked up information about Earth like a sponge. "Draysik?"

Dropping the photos in the catalogue, he threaded his way through the crowd to her, eager as a pup. "Yes, Miss Bethany?"

"I need to go out for a while. Would you mind taking over for me?"

The boy's eyes lit up. "Sure! I mean, no ma'am, I don't mind at all!"

"Good." She squeezed his shoulder in thanks. Barely giving MacReady a glance—for, in truth, she didn't know what to think of him at the moment—Bethany left with Commander Lorian.

xx-xx-xx

"The Skagarans are afraid, pure and simple." Bethany paced around the dining table of the converted boarding house, still too unsettled by her earlier conversation with MacReady to sit. "They think that when most of the humans leave, Starfleet will abandon this world, and the humans who are left will take over again, just as they did three hundred years ago—another Uprising, with Skagarans all but killed off, or reduced to virtual slavery."

"No," said Captain Hernandez, seated at the head of the dining table. "Starfleet is well aware of the humans' mistreatment of Skagarans over the centuries, and we wish to make amends."

"That's why we've asked you here," continued Commander Lorian, sitting at Hernandez's right hand. "You have the trust of these people. Doubtless they have discussed with you the issues they deem of prime importance during this time of transition. In addition, you offer the unique perspective of being part Skagaran yourself. You may know better than anyone what needs to be done to help correct the injustices perpetrated on them."

"They just want the right to live as people," Bethany said. "To be educated, to be able to call each other husband and wife, to own land, to be treated fairly. They need to know that the Tolerance Laws will be respected and enforced everywhere, not just here and South Point."

"We're committed to helping make that happen," Hernandez said.

For the first time since she had arrived, Bethany relaxed a little, allowing herself a small smile. "That's good to know." Her smile grew wry. "It'll be even better when the Skagarans see it with their own eyes...y'know, lawmen, schools, and suchlike."

Hernandez returned her smile. "Understood."

"There's a powerful need for schools to teach Skagarans basic education, of course," Bethany went on, "but I've been thinking on the idea of a school of higher learning, too...a college. A place for folks to learn what they need to move forward from here on in, instead of standing in the same place, the way they've done for the last three hundred years. And I don't just mean Skagarans—this would be a school for anyone to attend."

Lieutenant Archer was sitting on Hernandez's left. Introduced to Bethany a week ago as a "distant relative" of Captain Archer, Karyn had the same quiet confidence as the captain of _Enterprise_. She grinned at Bethany. "I think we may have our college founder right here."

Bethany's eyes widened. "Me?"

"You're more knowledgeable about Earth than anyone else here," Lieutenant Archer reasoned. "You have a clear notion of the skills and knowledge that would best benefit Skagarans—and humans too, for that matter—so designing a curriculum is within your purview. And you're a local. Skagarans and humans alike are familiar with you, even look up to you." She turned to Hernandez. "She could work with Starfleet instructors until she trained her own."

Bethany found an empty chair and sank into it. Her head was spinning. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Hernandez nodded. "The idea has promise." She smiled at Bethany. "You come highly recommended. We'd be glad to give you any guidance you might need. If you're interested, that is."

"At least _somebody's_ asking me." Bethany put a hand to her chest; her heart was pounding. This was an exciting, terrifying, wonderful prospect—more than her parents had ever dreamed for her. Hell, she'd get them in on it too—drag them up here to help her put it together, to join the teaching staff. They would be in hog heaven. Bethany found herself nodding, even though she was still more than a little trepidatious. "Okay," she told the captain. "I'm in."

xx-xx-xx

Lorian and Karyn escorted Bethany out of the boarding house. Unlike her earlier lively brainstorming with the Starfleet personnel, the schoolteacher was now unusually quiet. Whether her pensiveness was due to the new responsibilities she had agreed to take on, or something else, was uncertain.

As Lorian opened the door for her, Bethany brushed briefly against him. He let her exit ahead of him, then murmured in a low voice to Karyn, "I sense disquiet in her."

"About the college?" Karyn whispered back. "I think she'll do fine."

Lorian shook his head. "I doubt that's the problem. It is the same emotion I sensed at the schoolhouse. Not concern...it feels more like heartache."

Karyn nodded, then moved ahead, falling into step beside Bethany. The teacher was walking with her arms crossed over her chest, her head hung low.

"How are things going in town, with the database and all?" Karyn asked.

"All right, I guess," Bethany answered quietly, without looking up. "Mostly."

"Mostly?"

Bethany shook her head. "It's nothing. Really."

Karyn merely continued walking along with her, as Lorian trailed behind them. After another pause, Bethany said, "It was just something somebody said to me a bit ago, comparing humans to Skagarans."

"Lorian tells me there are a lot of strangers in town," Karyn commented. "There are bound to be some less-than-enlightened people."

"Folks who look down on Skagarans, I don't pay them much mind," Bethany said. "But this man..." Suddenly, she looked terribly sad. "I thought he was different. I thought he'd changed." She looked down at her feet as she walked on. "Surprised me, is all."

Karyn glanced back at Lorian, who raised an eyebrow. That, and the compassion she felt from him through the bond, confirmed what she suspected: this man was the reason for Bethany's heartache. She had affection for him.

"He lives in North Star?" Lorian asked her.

Bethany nodded. "Sheriff MacReady. He's been their protector...and my friend." Emotion was palpable in her voice now.

"Bethany...he sounds like more than a friend," Karyn said gently.

Bethany stopped and stared at Karyn, clearly taken aback. "Oh lord, I never thought of him as..." Then she sighed. "But I guess it wouldn't have stung so, unless it were true."

"Does he feel the same way about you?" Karen asked.

"I haven't the vaguest notion how he feels," Bethany answered. "It's work enough to get him to string a sentence together with me, much less speak his heart."

"I gather he has no knowledge of your heritage," Lorian said.

"Nobody knows," she replied. "I've been hiding it most of my life. My parents wanted it that way, so I'd have a chance at a better life—a chance to give others a better life."

Lorian pondered in silence for a moment. "From what I have observed, the sheriff is a staunch defender of all Skagarans."

Bethany threw up her hands in frustration. "That's why this doesn't make any sense!"

"Perhaps there has been a miscommunication due to this insufficiency of information," Lorian suggested.

Bethany blinked. "You Vulcans sure have a way of takin' a step back to get a look at a thing, don't you?"

"Dispassionate analysis is a hallmark of my people," Lorian acknowledged.

"What your parents asked of you is understandable," Karyn said. "It's given you a chance to help others. But sometimes secrets can obscure more important truths."

Bethany looked from one to the other. "So you're saying I should 'fess up to him?"

"It can't be any worse than you already think it is," Karyn pointed out.

Bethany sighed again. "That's true enough."

* * *

_Bridge  
__NX-02 Columbia  
__Orbiting planet designated DEL-0309-M_

"Captain," Delgetti said from Tactical as Hernandez and Karyn exited the turbolift. "A ship just dropped out of warp."

"Let's take a look at it, Lieutenant," Hernandez said as the two women took their seats. The viewscreen lit up, showing the approach of a sleek, compact ship.

"It's Xindi," Delgetti reported.

Karyn was staring at the ship. "Xindi Primate," she said. "A Councillor ship."

Hernandez turned to her. "You recognize it?"

Karyn leaned closer to the captain, dropping her voice. "Councillor Mallora was in a ship like it when he found us."

"Mallora? Degra's successor, isn't he?" Hernandez was impressed. "He found your ship?"

Karyn nodded. "We didn't know Degra was dead. We didn't even know whether the Xindi had come to rescue us or vaporize us." Karyn shuddered reflexively at the memory. "Those first few moments were awfully tense."

"Perhaps they've learned something about that Illyrian ship." Hernandez thumbed the comm panel on her chair. "Bridge to Lorian."

"Here, Captain," came a baritone voice behind her. Hernandez turned to see Lorian emerging from the turbolift.

"How did you..." Hernandez began. Then light dawned. She glanced to her first officer's bondmate. Karyn shrugged a bit sheepishly. Hernandez turned back to Lorian. "Shall I simply dispense with using the comm altogether, Commander?"

"Not at all, Captain," Lorian said. His expression was utterly serious, but his blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "Shall I dispense with acting on my own initiative?"

Hernandez arched an eyebrow in a picture-perfect imitation of Vulcanesque annoyance. His response was a tiny Lorian-smile.

"The Xindi ship is hailing us, Captain," Yarrow said.

Hernandez gave Lorian a "saved by the comm" look before nodding to Yarrow. "On screen, Ensign."

The viewscreen display switched to the interior of the Xindi vessel, and the personable ebony countenance of Mallora of the Xindi Council. "Captain Hernandez! We meet at last."

"Greetings, Councillor Mallora," Hernandez responded with a smile.

"It has been far too long since we've had the opportunity to speak with our Starfleet friends, and I—" Mallora peered past Hernandez. "Is that Captain Lorian with you?"

Lorian looked to Hernandez, who nodded. He turned to Mallora. "Commander Lorian now, Councillor. I serve as first officer aboard _Columbia_."

Mallora nodded solemnly. "Ah yes, we were informed of your _Enterprise's_ demise upon her arrival at Earth. I am sorry."

Without even looking, Lorian could feel all eyes on the bridge turning to him, could feel the waves of shock without needing to reach out to sense them. From Karyn, there was amused mortification. Hernandez was unreadable—she exhibited remarkable self-control—but he assumed she would be annoyed at the extensive paperwork that would doubtless result from Mallora's unfortunate choice of words. Lorian maintained an expression of Vulcan calm as he replied, "She served us well."

"True enough." Mallora focused his attention on Hernandez once more. "Permission to come aboard, Captain? I have good news for you."

"Permission granted, Councillor," she replied. "We look forward to seeing you."

The viewscreen blinked back to its exterior view—and an instant later, Orlov at the science station said, "Captain Lorian?"

"There was another _Enterprise?_" Delgetti added with interest.

Karyn swiveled around to face Hernandez again. "It appears the security clearances of the bridge staff just took a big jump," she murmured.

"As if we really could have kept this a secret," Hernandez muttered. "What was the brass thinking?" She rolled her eyes. "Time travel gives me a headache."

xx-xx-xx

From his seat across the conference room table, Mallora gave Lorian and Karyn a warm smile of congratulations. "Even in the midst of saddest tragedy, there can come unexpected joy. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness together, and the blessings of Those who watch over us all."

"Thank you, Councillor," the couple replied in tandem.

"Now it's your turn, Councillor," Captain Hernandez said. "How have you and your Xindi brethren been faring?"

Mallora grew somber. "It was a dark time at first. We learned that Dolim and the Reptilians had plotted to seize control of the Council, with the Insectoids as their allies. Both were nearly removed from the Council altogether. However...we were all humbled by the Guardians' deception. Better to pull together and learn from our errors rather than be fractured by them. It was finally decided to give the Reptilians and Insectoids a lesser voice in the Council until they have earned the trust of the others once more." He smiled faintly. "They are chafing under their probationary restraints, but behaving."

Hernandez nodded. "A promising start."

Mallora's serious mien gave way to a more upbeat expression. "And now to the business at hand. We received a report yesterday from one of our communications trackers. A Xythian ship ran across the Illyrian research vessel _Rykos_ in open space two months ago, while returning home from a cargo run. They found the crew alive and well, more or less, though thoroughly sick of Starfleet rations, I understand."

"I'll bet," Hernandez chuckled with relief. "Thank God they were all safe."

"The Xythians took the _Rykos_ in tow and transported the Illyrians to their homeworld."

"They're home?" Karyn broke into a joyful smile. "That's wonderful!"

The captain was only partially satisfied; unfinished business remained. "They still deserve our personal thanks and an apology, for a start. Councillor, if you have information on the location of Illyria..."

"I thought you might ask." Mallora reached into a pocket and produced a small data rod. "Coordinates of the planet, along with a few particulars about the governing body, the High Chancellor, local culture, and protocols for visitors."

Hernandez gave him a charming smile as she accepted the data rod. "Thank you." She glanced at Lorian and Karyn. "Let's just hope the Illyrians don't shoot us on sight."

* * *

_North Star_

Main Street was dark and quiet by the time Bethany approached the schoolhouse to collect her things. She saw light flickering through the window, though visitors were usually long gone by this hour. Draysik was probably waiting up for her.

She entered—but to her surprise, MacReady was the only person in the schoolroom. He was watching one of the database vids. She recognized it: parklands of the American Southwest. Folks had requested that one more than any other.

Hearing her come in, MacReady glanced briefly at her before turning back to the sweeping vistas of cactus-strewn desert pictured on the screen. "That's where they were when the Skagarans took them."

"I know," she said. "Is that why you're here? To watch vids?"

He rose and shut off the display, leaving the room in darkness, except for the light of the single lamp on the desk. "Draysik wanted to wait up for you, but he was dog tired. I told him to go on home."

Bethany crossed behind her desk. "You don't have to look after me. I can take care of myself."

MacReady clouded over. "I didn't mean—" he began sharply, before stopping himself. Carefully, he began again. "I know you can. But you seemed disgruntled about somethin' when you left. It felt like we were fightin', even though I don't know what about."

Bethany kept her eyes averted as she packed her carpetbag. "You're the sheriff, Sheriff. You're no stranger to disgruntled folks."

"It's different when it's you."

"Why should it be different?"

"Because it just is." He sounded annoyed. "What did that Starfleet captain want?"

"She wanted to know the Skagaran perspective on this whole situation."

"Why didn't she just ask a Skagaran?" he said dryly.

_Here goes nothing._ Bethany took a deep breath, then turned to face him. "She did. I'm Skagaran."

MacReady stared at her—whether in shock or revulsion, she couldn't tell. She looked away, shuffling several books between her hands. "Partly, anyway. My grandmother. My folks live down in South Point...well, the place outside South Point that used to be their Skagtown. They call it Dalee'ya now—that means 'hope.' My father educated my mother, and she passed on what she learned to other Skagarans, in secret. When I was born, my parents saw that I could pass for human, and they thought it was a sign that I was meant to do something more, maybe make a difference. They taught me all they could, and when I was old enough, they sent me away, here to North Star, to live as a human and do what I could to continue what they started."

Finished, she finally ventured a look at MacReady. His face was an unreadable mask. She couldn't help but think the worst. _He sees me differently now, as someone...something...less._

After what seemed like forever, he spoke. "Well. That explains a few things."

It certainly didn't sound much to her like a vote of confidence. "Such as?"

MacReady shrugged faintly. "Well, you've always seemed different from other folks."

Bethany shut her eyes as the hurt inside her flared up. She dumped the last of her things in her carpetbag. "I had no idea I was so inept at passing for human." Her voice sounded snappish to her ears.

MacReady squinted at her in exasperation. "I don't mean like that! I mean different like Huck Finn, in the way you look at things."

That was something. But Bethany still felt self-conscious and confused, and the hurt hadn't gone away. She picked up her bag. "Fine. Now that your curiosity has been satisfied, I won't waste any more of your time."

He looked baffled. "_Now_ what the hell are you talkin' about?"

"You should know," she said impatiently. "You said it yourself—I'd be wasting my time if I stayed here to help the Skagarans, rather than going to Earth. You still look down on them. On me."

"That's not what I meant at all!" he retorted. He tore off his hat and slapped it angrily against his thigh, sending up a faint cloud of dust. "Confound it, woman, it's hard enough talking to you when you _don't_ twist my words all inside out!"

_Why won't he just say what he means, for pity's sake?_ Bethany wanted to scream. "Then kindly talk plain to me, because you've got me all mixed up!"

"Not half as mixed up as you've got me!" he fairly roared. Jamming his hat back on, he stalked past her, toward the door. "When you straighten your head out, give me a holler. I am _done_ tryin' to figure you out today."

"Mike."

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob.

"Tell me what you meant," Bethany said quietly. "Please."

Slowly, he turned back. Looking her in the eye, he said, "I don't think Skagarans are a waste of time. I just don't think it's fair for you to give up your dream, is all."

_Now what the hell is __he__ talking about?_ "My dream...?"

"Goin' to Earth."

She looked blankly at him. "Where'd you get that idea?"

He threw up his hands. "From _you_, dammit! You've been moonin' about Earth for months!"

_Oh lord, here we go again._ "Well, yes," Bethany admitted. "But that was to give myself the leverage I needed to keep on teaching the Skagarans. And to give folks a reason to better themselves, to make progress, not just keep doing the same thing they've been doing day after day, generation after generation. Earth is the future, and these people have to start catching up."

She expected another round of fireworks. Instead, MacReady looked almost...hopeful. "Then you're not...?"

"Goodness, no. I belong here." But then, as Bethany watched a smile appear on his face, she began to feel bent out of shape again. "Well, that's a fine way to act, looking all happy-like," she said indignantly. "Are you that glad I'm not going with you?"

His smile vanished, replaced by befuddlement once more. "Me? Go to Earth? Why'd you think that?"

She sighed. "We _talked_ about it. This afternoon."

"You did most of the talkin'," he said. "Fact is, even if I lucked into a place where I was wanted on Earth, I don't think I'd ever find anyplace there where I was _needed_. Here, it's a different story. Who knows what it'll be like six months from now, or a year? I've been hearing talk from some of the Skagarans—they're not exactly comfortable with the idea of a couple thousand independent-minded humans staying on here. I suppose there'll be Starfleet people around, but the Skagarans need folks they can trust to look out for 'em. This world isn't much, it needs a lot of work. But it's home. Hell, the only reason I even thought about leaving at all was because—"

Abruptly, he stopped and looked down, his black hat brim nearly hiding his face. He ran the back of his hand along his chin. The gesture had a sweetly nervous look to it.

Bethany's heart skipped a beat. _Could it be?_ She'd seen him defend the schoolhouse against half a dozen Uprisers, armed with nothing but his Colt and his determination to uphold justice...but now, in the lamplight's warm glow, with no one else around but her, he looked nothing like that fearless paladin.

"Because...?" she asked softly.

The hat brim rose, and she found herself looking into his sky-blue eyes. "Because I thought you were goin' there." The corners of his mouth quirked up in a faint smile. "I've gotten used to you."

She crossed to stand before him, taking one of his strong, calloused hands in hers. "I've gotten used to you, too."

"I'm glad we talked, then." He cocked his head at her. "And it's safe to say I've done enough talkin' to last me a good month."

With a smile, she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. His mustache tickled. "Then it's settled."

He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "Talk less, teacher lady."

-tbc-


	8. Amends

**Redivivus  
**by HopefulRomantic

Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: _Star Trek: Enterprise_ is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

A/N: Thanks as always to my betas boushh and slj91.

* * *

Chapter Eight: _Amends_

_4th day of the month of Yaria  
__Oroth Observatory  
__Oroth Province, Illyria_

Braax was making his usual afternoon rounds of the observatory, answering patrons' questions, watching the knots of wide-eyed schoolchildren as they wandered the exhibits. He found his attention straying, though. He hadn't been able to concentrate since the Chancellory had contacted him this morning to inform him that an Earth starship was in orbit, and that the captain had asked to speak with him.

Now, wherever he went, Braax felt eyes on him. The staff had gotten wind of the news—spirits, the entire planet must know by now. Everyone seemed to be watching, waiting to see how he would react.

What would he say to Archer after all this time?

The answer had been easy enough months ago, when Braax's outrage and guilt fueled him as much as his responsibility to his crew. He had imagined such a meeting, rehearsing his furious response to Archer over and over during those endless, uncertain days as the _Rykos_ plodded slowly through empty space toward home. But that had been before Captain Jholli had plucked the ship out of its oblivion, and confirmed what Archer had told Braax about the humans' war with the Xindi—the sneak attacks, the fierce battles, the millions of innocents killed on Earth.

The matter had been much simpler when Braax had believed Archer to be a thief, a ruthless thug, nothing more.

Braax was on the balcony overlooking the central atrium when he heard a commotion on the stairs. Someone was huffing his way up to the landing. It was an adjutant from the Chancellory—one of countless minor functionaries who operated with a vastly over-inflated sense of their own importance. Braax had forgotten the man's name; there had been too many to remember during the crush of publicity that followed the rescue of the _Rykos_.

The adjutant was flanked by several security officers and herding along two human females, whose blue uniforms Braax recognized, though he hadn't seen their like for many months. Both women were similar in manner and appearance—dark-haired, self-assured and observant—though the older of the two was apparently the leader, judging from the way the younger deferred to her. The adjutant waved them both to one side, telling them when to stop and where to stand, his manner terse and ill-mannered. It irritated Braax that the humans' first impression of Illyrian hospitality was such poor treatment at the hands of a petty bureaucrat.

The little man scurried over to Braax. "Greetings, Captain," he said with an obsequious little bow.

Braax sighed inwardly at the use of his rank. He had retired from service shortly after returning to Illyria, but "captain" was still often used as an honorific, though it made him uncomfortable.

"The coward Archer refuses to show his face here," the lackey sniffed disdainfully, "but in his place, the humans sent another." He checked his notes, then pointed to the older woman. "That one is Captain Her-naan-dez." He then gestured dismissively in the direction of the younger human. "The other one is an underling, a pilot or some such." He folded his arms importantly and waited.

"Was there something else?" Braax inquired thinly.

The adjutant didn't seem to understand. "I'm their escort."

"And you have performed your duty splendidly," Braax said. "Now I would speak with them privately."

The man's expression twisted in perturbation. "But, Captain—"

"Thank you, Adjutant."

Clearly peeved, the adjutant retreated stiffly to the stairway with his security detachment—just out of earshot, but not out of sight. Braax was far from alone with his visitors, however. The group's showy arrival had attracted the attention of a sizable number of observatory patrons, who were now surreptitiously watching from the corridors and the atrium below.

Braax turned his attention to the humans. "I apologize. Illyria is known for its hospitality, not its rudeness. However, there is much resentment for humans among my people because of what happened."

"So we noticed," Her-naan-dez said. "We got the impression that your High Chancellor would have preferred to toss us in a prison."

"If you were Archer, he might very well have," Braax said. "Clever of you to be someone else."

"This wasn't Archer's choice," Her-naan-dez said. She seemed genuinely regretful. "From the day he got home, he was petitioning his superiors to return and search for your ship."

"If he had found us three months ago, I probably would have locked him up myself," Braax said dryly.

Her-naan-dez looked intrigued. "But now?"

Braax sighed. "Time, and the comfort of home, affords one the opportunity to ponder, to re-examine. Or to brood, according to my wife."

The two humans exchanged glances, but said nothing. Braax realized they were waiting for him to elaborate. He began to pace back and forth along the balcony, wearing a puzzled frown. "The more I thought about it, the less it made sense. First of all, why would a criminal leave behind food and supplies for his victims? Not that I'm giving the food high marks, you understand. It seems to have been designed for little use beyond bare sustenance."

Her-naan-dez smiled wryly. "They're called 'emergency' rations for good reason."

Braax hmmphed in agreement. "And why would a thief steal our ship's warp coil, then give us a supply of trellium ore worth as much as the ship itself?" He stopped before the balustrade that bordered the balcony. Below, patrons were gathered in softly sibilant groups, like whisper-birds, observing him and the humans. "He also shared a few details regarding that war of yours."

"Then you know what was at stake," Her-naan-dez said. "Archer was faced with the destruction of our homeworld and the extermination of our race—the end of all of us. He could not fail."

"I don't expect my countrymen to sympathize with Archer," Braax demurred. "Illyrians have been at peace for generations. For most, the idea of war is incomprehensible—a dim memory relegated to history books. Archer is an alien who committed an injustice against their fellows. His reason doesn't interest them."

"And what about you?" the captain asked.

_To what lengths would you go if you were tasked with saving your world and its people from annihilation?_ The question was staggering and sobering, and it had haunted Braax for months. "I wanted to understand," he said. "I am an astronomer, an instructor...but I was also a ship captain, with lives in my care. I too am responsible for what happened to the _Rykos_."

For the first time, the pilot spoke. "It was an impossible situation, with no satisfactory solution," she said. "You were duty-bound to refuse Archer that warp coil, just as he was duty-bound to find a way to continue his mission. Taking the warp coil by force went against his deepest-held principles, but he had run out of options."

Braax was struck by the young woman's passion—especially since she was defending his actions as well as Archer's. "What is your part in this, aside from piloting?"

The woman glanced at Her-naan-dez before answering. "I am Archer's kinswoman."

Braax drew back in surprise. He studied the two humans speculatively. "So Earth sends a surrogate captain and a surrogate Archer that I may still have a target at which to vent my fury?"

"Lieutenant Archer truly is my pilot," Her-naan-dez said. "She felt she could contribute to this meeting, and I agreed. We are both here, on behalf of Archer and Earth, to offer our apologies and our thanks to you and your crew, and to try to make amends in any way we can." She smiled faintly. "We will, of course, accommodate your fury-venting, if you wish."

Braax appreciated these humans' subtle humor, as well as their evident sincerity. "Thankfully, my fury has run its course, though I cannot say the same for most of my countrymen. But since you have decided against delivering up Archer, what else do you propose?"

"Financial reparation, perhaps?" Her-naan-dez suggested.

"Unnecessary," Braax said. "Our rescuer, a freight captain, arranged for the sale of the trellium, for an exorbitant sum. After we compensated him for returning us home, the High Chancellor divided the remaining money among my crew—enough for us to retire from service if we chose."

Her-naan-dez tried again. "Medical assistance for your crew, then."

Braax shook his head. "Only one crewman fell seriously ill, and he has since recovered. The worst afflictions we suffered while we were stranded were loneliness and uncertainty. Uncomfortable, but temporary."

"Trade?" the Archer woman offered. "Your planet appears to be an abundant provider, but if there is anything you lack that we can supply you..."

Braax chuckled. "I'm sure it would please the High Chancellor immensely to be able to demand some sort of trade goods from you."

"Excellent," Her-naan-dez smiled.

"There is one other thing." Braax paused. "You can answer a question for me."

Both humans regarded him curiously. "Certainly," the captain said.

It was the first question Braax would have put to Archer, if they had met again...a mystery that had continued to taunt him, chasing away sleep and keeping peace of mind maddeningly out of reach. "Did it matter?" he asked quietly.

Her-naan-dez frowned slightly in confusion. "I don't understand."

"The warp coil. Did it make a difference?"

The most extraordinary look of gentle disbelief crossed both humans' faces, so spontaneous that Braax decided their reactions must surely be genuine. "Rest assured that it did, Captain," Her-naan-dez said. "Your warp coil repaired Archer's ship, enabling him to arrive at a certain location in time to meet a man—a Xindi, one of the enemy—who shared vital information regarding the weapon his people had created to destroy Earth."

Braax remembered Archer mentioning such a weapon. A single device capable of laying waste to an entire world...it was impossible to imagine.

"That first meeting was critical," Her-naan-dez continued. "It established a relationship of trust between Archer and this Xindi, which led to other meetings, and more Xindi allies. They helped Archer to blow up the weapon before it could destroy our world."

Lieutenant Archer took up the tale. "Archer's ship, _Enterprise_, also disabled the network of spheres responsible for the anomalous space you experienced in the Delphic Expanse."

"Captain Jholli told us about those spheres," Braax recalled. "They were created by another race that wanted to seize control of the region?"

The Archer woman nodded. "The spheres would have rendered the Expanse—and eventually the entire galaxy—uninhabitable to all of us, if not for _Enterprise_...and your warp coil."

Her-naan-dez added, "You played a key role, however unwillingly, in the rescue of a planet, a species, a galaxy, a future from obliteration. All because you were simply in the wrong place, and Archer answered your distress call."

As Braax felt his lingering uncertainty put to rest at last, he took a deep breath for the first time since he could remember.

_...And what if you could go back in time? With your engines and life support damaged, would you still steer the Rykos clear of Archer? Even if you took that risk, you might save your ship from being plundered and set adrift, only to doom the future of the galaxy—including Illyria._ Perhaps the _Rykos_ had been in the right place after all.

"Archer completed his mission, but he has been troubled ever since by what he did," Lieutenant Archer said quietly. "As his kinswoman, I offer his humble apology for the hardship he caused you and your crew, and his deepest thanks for your sacrifice. He still hopes one day to tell you himself."

_Hardship...sacrifice_...the travails of Braax's crew seemed minor compared to what he had learned of the war's toll on the humans. His people were alive and whole; their children were safe. "Tell him I look forward to our next meeting," he said. "I doubt my countrymen's perspective regarding humans will change quickly...but I believe it _will_ change someday."

The Chancellory adjutant was edging closer, looking as if he wished to leap in and rescue Braax from his unsavory visitors. Braax had had quite enough of the man. In a voice loud enough to carry to the packed atrium below, he told the humans, "On behalf of Illyria, I accept your apology, and your thanks. I propose that we begin again."

Her-naan-dez's eyes warmed with gratitude. "Agreed."

The adjutant blanched. Braax felt oddly pleased as he beckoned to the two humans. "Here, let me take you on a tour of the observatory. It will give the oglers something else to gossip about." The three strolled away, leaving the Chancellory lackey to stare in scandalized shock after them, as the onlookers erupted in a fresh flurry of whispered exchanges.

* * *

_September 18, 2154  
__NX-01 Enterprise  
__en route to Earth_

Tensions on _Enterprise_ eased considerably once the _Sarajevo_ arrived to take charge of the Ericksons. However, many of the crew were sad to see Danica Erickson leave—none so much as the captain himself. Jon said his farewells to Dani with a promise to treat her to a "dinner and a few family surprises" once they were both back home on Earth.

Crew morale took an even bigger jump when, after two weeks of subspace interference, Hoshi received a mail burst from Echo III containing a backlog of messages from home.

_September 7_

_Jon—  
__It's good that Phlox submitted a proposal to Starfleet about adding counselors to starship crews. It would certainly help to deal with the stress of deep-space and military missions to have a designated sin-eater..._

_September 12_

_Jon,  
__I noticed that the boys in the band haven't been teasing me nearly enough lately, and Callahan is cutting me way too much slack. All this solicitousness of theirs just has me missing you more. I'll be glad when things are back to normal and they're giving me shit about you. In the meantime, I'll cope in the usual way, by gazing at your picture each night as I drift off to sleep, and letting my imagination conjure up all sorts of wicked things. You don't mind, do you?..._

_September 15_

_Hi Jon!  
__So I've been catching some matches, now that the fall season is underway, and I'm a little confused. Why don't they call it water soccer, or water volleyball, or even water rugby?..._

"You're smiling."

Archer looked up from his padd to see Trip entering the Captain's Mess, his expression one of eager expectancy.

Archer held up his padd. "Letters from Kyle." He studied Trip as the engineer sat down. "I see you're all smiles tonight, too."

"Am I?" Trip asked pleasantly.

Archer nodded. "About...?"

"I don't know yet," Trip replied. "T'Pol's in a good mood about something—I can feel it. Did anything happen on the bridge today?"

"Let's see... Crewman Holmes changed her hairstyle."

"Hmm. That's certainly the stuff of excitement—especially as soon as Crewman LaCoeur gets a look at her. But I don't think that's it."

"Hoshi was pulling more mail in from Echo III as I was leaving the bridge. Maybe..." Archer shrugged.

Trip sat forward. "A letter from Vulcan, maybe? From the Social Ministry?" Then he held up a hand. "Nope, don't get my hopes up. I got tired of holdin' my breath weeks ago."

"You're probably right," Archer agreed. "T'Pol could be reacting to an optimal diagnostic on the aft sensors, for all we know."

"Exactly." Trip fiddled with his napkin for a bit, then gestured to Archer's padd, clearly needing a distraction. "So how's Kyle?"

Archer looked wistfully at the letter on his screen. "Feisty. And very far away."

Trip smiled. "Just hang on a few more weeks, and you'll be back together, necking in the dark."

"Not much of a relationship." Archer sighed.

"Oh, I dunno," Trip said. "Seems practical right now. Bein' the girlfriend of the Hero of the Universe would probably be a pain for her. Remember what T'Pol went through when Starfleet announced that she was joining up?"

Archer grimaced. "That was awful."

"Keep doing what you're doing." Trip nodded toward Archer's letter. "It looks to me like it's working."

Archer smiled down at the padd. "I've read about long-distance courtships by correspondence, centuries ago..." He paused self-consciously. "Sometimes I feel ten years out of step, like a schoolboy getting everything wrong. But then she writes back, and we're still fine, so..."

"Aw, you couldn't get it wrong with her if you tried," Trip chided.

Archer's voice dropped to a soft murmur of wonderment. "Trip, she's been watching water polo."

"I rest my case," Trip declared. "It's _gotta_ be love."

Archer shook his head, marveling. "How did this happen? Karyn talks about it as if it were destiny. I keep thinking I'm just damned lucky."

"Not luck, Cap'n," Trip said firmly. "A confluence of forces all comin' together at one perfect moment."

Archer thought about it. "If you're right, that would be...Callahan's busted window."

"That's how you and Kyle met?" Trip scratched his chin. "I was picturing something more like, 'Their eyes met across a crowded room...'"

Archer shook his head. "A glass-strewn sidewalk. With Callahan ranting about xenophobes."

"Sounds romantic."

T'Pol entered the Captain's Mess, her sublimely pleased expression a portent of good news. As Trip and Archer stood to greet her, Trip's hopeful mood returned full force. "Well?"

Calmly, T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back. "The Vulcan Social Ministry has officially dissolved my marriage to Koss."

All of Trip's pent-up tension left him in a whoosh of relief. Archer clapped him on the back. "The end of a marriage isn't typically cause for celebration, but in this case, I believe congratulations are in order."

"Thanks, Cap'n." Trip moved to T'Pol's side, all smiles.

"What now?" Archer asked.

"Tomorrow morning, you will find two requests on your desk for a brief leave of absence once we have returned to Earth," T'Pol replied. "Assuming the _Columbia_ has returned to port as well."

"Traditional Vulcan wedding ceremony," Trip explained. "At least we hope so, if we can find a priest at the Vulcan compound who isn't squirrelly about marrying us."

"I'm sure you could find one on Vulcan," Archer reasoned. "And being heroes of the Xindi war, you should be able to secure the extra month's leave to go there for the wedding."

Trip pursed his lips. "Wellll...aside from the fact that we don't like trading on that 'Xindi hero' rep any more than you do...we're already walkin' on eggshells about this marriage as it is. If we can get Lorian and Karyn, and my folks, and a Vulcan priest, and ourselves in one place, all at the same time...we'll take it, and be grateful."

"Consider your requests granted, then." Archer's own smile faded. "And if Starfleet decides to transfer one of you off _Enterprise?_"

"Professionally speaking?" Trip shrugged. "Whichever one of us gets the transfer orders will go kicking and screaming." He grinned briefly at T'Pol. "Or the Vulcan equivalent. _Enterprise_ is our home—you know that, Cap'n. And we'll keep fighting to get that non-fraternization policy changed. Like Admiral Tanith said, it's getting obsolete, and fast."

"I'll be fighting right with you," Archer said. "I don't want to lose either one of you."

"On a personal level..." T'Pol turned her luminous gaze on Trip. "Our physical separation will not matter." She held out her hand, and Trip touched his fingers to hers in a sweet _ozh'esta_, as naturally as if he'd done it all his life.

Archer was reminded of the day Trip and T'Pol first met, when she turned her back on his proffered hand. _How far they've come._ "If you don't mind," he said, "I'll do as Phlox does and hope for the best." He took his seat at the dining table. "So Trip, do you still have those plans you showed me for your joint quarters?"

"Are you kiddin'?" Trip said as he and T'Pol also seated themselves. "I've had everything figured out since a week after we left Spacedock—modifications designed, blueprints drawn up, Lieutenant Carson's permission secured to swap quarters with me when the time comes. I've just been waiting for the Vulcan Social Ministry to get its sh—"

"Trip..." T'Pol quietly admonished.

"Er, just waiting for the wheels of Vulcan bureaucracy to finish turning, in their logical, sloooow fashion." Trip rolled his eyes.

Archer stifled a smile. "Good."

Trip poured T'Pol a glass of water, and himself an iced tea. "I'll get word to everybody—Carson, Lt. Singh in Maintenance, Chief Quartermaster Hendley—and see about scheduling our little makeover. With your permission, Cap'n."

"Again, granted." Archer signaled the steward to bring in dinner. "I don't have to remind you two about the importance of your continuing roles as models of discretion..."

"No," they both said wearily.

This time Archer did smile. He raised his tea glass in a toast. "Here's hoping for everlasting togetherness—low-key, of course."

Trip and T'Pol raised their glasses. "To togetherness," Trip echoed happily. "'Bout damned time."

With Archer lingering over his pie and glancing at his unfinished letter out of the corner of his eye, Trip and T'Pol left him in peace after dinner. As soon as he was alone, Archer dropped his fork and hit the comm button. "Archer to the Quartermaster's store. Mr. Hendley?"

"Hendley here, sir."

Archer smiled gleefully to himself. "Chief, Operation Trailblazer is go."

* * *

The operation was carried out the following morning with the precision of a tactical assault—no surprise, since Archer had given Malcolm Reed the job of planning and executing the assignment over a month ago.

As soon as Reed received confirmation that both Trip and T'Pol had arrived at their stations for their duty shifts, he deployed teams from Maintenance and the Quartermaster's store, with security personnel stationed at key checkpoints to keep abreast of the op's progress and send hourly updates to Reed's terminal at Tactical, encoded as Eyes Only.

Across the bridge at the science station, T'Pol remained completely unaware of the frenetic activity taking place in and around her quarters a few decks below. She was absorbed with recalibrating the external sensors to extend their range, an elective project in which she had expressed interest at a senior staff meeting, and which Archer had casually suggested she pursue today.

Meanwhile, down in engineering, Lieutenant Hess was keeping Trip similarly occupied. Hess began the day by expressing a touch of concern that the engineering crew was losing its edge out here with little to do. Trip had responded by staging and supervising a series of readiness drills guaranteed to keep everyone hopping all day.

As the first shift neared its end, Operation Trailblazer barreled with extreme determination toward its meticulously timed conclusion. Debris was whisked away. The location of Trip's newly unpacked belongings were precision-checked against the pre-move photos taken by Chief Quartermaster Hendley. Lieutenant Carson, getting settled in her new quarters on the far side of E-Deck, glanced out her viewport and did a doubletake, still unaccustomed to seeing the stars whizzing by in the opposite direction. And at precisely 1655 hours, Chef swept into the hub of controlled chaos, accompanied by a retinue of security escorts, to personally hand-deliver his own contribution to the operation.

At 1700 hours, as the second shift crew began arriving on the bridge, Archer glanced at Malcolm, who gave him a subtle nod, signaling that all was in readiness. Archer crossed to T'Pol's station as she rose from her console. "Commander, I have a few ideas about your cabin refit. What do you say we collect Trip and swing by your quarters before dinner?"

"That would be agreeable," T'Pol replied. "I warn you, however, that he is most resolute concerning his designs for the modifications."

Right on cue, Hoshi called from the comm station. "Captain, there's a message coming in for you from Starfleet."

"I'll take it in my ready room." Archer turned apologetically to T'Pol. "A slight delay. You and Trip go on ahead. I'll be there soon."

T'Pol nodded. As Archer headed for his ready room, she boarded the turbolift. A few seconds after she was gone, Archer peeked back out onto the bridge. "All clear?" he asked quietly.

Hoshi checked her sensor board. "She just passed B-Deck...C-Deck...you're safe, Captain."

Archer bounded back up the steps. "Malcolm—the card!" he exclaimed worriedly. "Is the card—"

"Signed and delivered, sir," Reed replied calmly. "I received confirmation three minutes ago."

Archer sagged against the railing in relief. "I can't believe everyone got this done in eight hours." To Malcolm, he said, "Pass along my thanks to Chief Hendley, Lieutenant Singh, and their crews."

"Very good, Captain."

"You too, Malcolm," Archer added. "And your people. Well done."

"Thank you, sir." Reed allowed himself a small smile at the captain's praise. It had been a well-executed op, at that.

xx-xx-xx

Trip and T'Pol arrived at her quarters to find a note tacked to her door, written in Archer's handwriting.

_T & T—  
__The ideas are inside. See what you think.  
_—_J.A._

Trip frowned at the note. "I thought you said he was meeting us here."

"Perhaps I misunderstood." T'Pol opened the door, took two steps inside—and abruptly came to a halt. Trip bumped into her from behind, before he saw what had stopped her.

The left wall was gone, revealing the adjoining cabin—formerly Lieutenant Carson's, but now transformed into a spot-on replica of Trip's quarters, except for the mirror-image arrangement of the furniture.

"Holy shit..." Trip wandered into the room, whistling softly in admiration at the meticulous placement of the knickknacks on his shelves, the diver's helmet positioned just so, even the paperwork on his desk looking exactly as he had left it this morning. It was eerie.

The only significant difference was the absence of his bunk. In its place—just as he had planned it months ago—was a cozy dining nook. The table was set with dinner for two; fresh tea, both hot and iced, and several covered dishes waited. Trip peeked under a few lids. Salad, baked bread and _krei'la_, pasta primavera, _pla-savas_ and pecan pie...it all smelled wonderful. "I'd say Chef had a hand in this little—"

"Trip." T'Pol pulled his attention back to her cabin. Her bunk had been replaced by a double bed, neatly made and topped by a regulation bedspread, with her own throw pillows arranged in front of the headboard.

Trip stared. "Damn, it's beautiful."

"There are cabinets in the headboard, and drawers in the base," she observed. "This is your design, is it not?"

He studied the bed more closely. "It sure is, down to the placement of the reading lights. But I never showed the plans to Hendley or Singh." He sat on the bed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "How did the captain pull this off?..."

T'Pol sat beside him. "He saw your plans."

"I showed him _once!_ Two months ago, right after we left Earth."

She folded her hands delicately across her knees. "And?"

Trip felt a distinctively _you're three steps behind_ kind of vibe drifting subtly through the bond. "And what?" he said defensively. "Are you tellin' me the captain has suddenly deveoped an eidetic memory or something?"

"No," T'Pol said calmly.

He squinted at her. "But you're _lookin'_ at me, darlin', as if I should..." Then it hit him. "Wait. I remember now. I got a call from engineering..." He shook his head, unbelieving. "Aw, now hang on, I was out of the room for maybe two minutes..."

"Captain Archer has demonstrated singular determination and resourcefulness in the past," T'Pol pointed out.

Trip was amazed. "He's had this scheme in the works for two months...Singh's had the work order to knock down the wall, Hendley's had the bed all built, hidden under a tarp somewhere... They were all waiting, just like us, for that all-clear signal from Vulcan." He laid back on the bed with a chuckle. "Can you imagine what it must've looked like down here today? I'll bet the whole damn crew from Maintenance was in here, tearing the wall apart, packing like crazy. And how they got my room over here intact...d'you think they locked the transporter on my stuff and beamed it over? Nah, even ol' Emory couldn't do that, no matter how many of his nutball-genius cylinders were firing."

T'Pol rose to survey their new domain further. She noted that her meditation pallet had been moved in front of the viewport, and her Vulcan wall sculpture to the wall over the desk. "Your plans appear to have been followed to the letter."

"Yeah, they did a bang-up job." Trip sat up. "Now that you see it in three dimensions, what do you think?" He chewed his lip, trying not to sound nervous. "Do you like it?"

Thankfully, he felt her contentment, even before she spoke. "It is quite pleasing, _t'hai'la_."

He relaxed into a grin. "Good."

T'Pol sat beside him again, handing him an envelope. "I found this on my desk. Another message from the captain?"

"Let's find out." Trip opened the envelope and pulled out a hand-made paper greeting card with a drawing of a house on the front. Inside, it read: _There's no place like home._ The rest of the card was filled with short notes of well-wishes and signatures from Archer, Malcolm, Hoshi, Anna Hess, Celia Carson, Singh, Robert Hendley, and crewmembers from Maintenance and the Quartermasters store. Naturally, Chef's flamboyant signature was larger than anyone else's.

They sat in silence for a long moment, marveling at all the names. "It looks like half the crew was in on this," Trip finally said.

"We are fortunate to be a part of them," T'Pol said quietly. Trip could feel how touched she was. She had been an outsider for so much of her life...not only as a Vulcan on _Enterprise_, but among her own people, because of her curiosity and her affinity for emotion. Trip was happy that the crew had finally accepted her, and that she felt she belonged here.

He set the card down on the bedside table, then turned expectantly to her. "So which do we try out first? The intimate dining experience?" He smiled suggestively. "Or the spacious new bed?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Do all humans spend such an inordinate amount of time thinking about sex?"

"I'm a newlywed!" he protested with a laugh.

T'Pol frowned faintly. "That is irrelevant. The mating urge brought on by our bonding dissipated long ago."

"Sex can serve a variety of different functions for humans," Trip explained patiently. "It's a fun contact sport, a stress reliever...and a way of expressing love." He stroked her cheek with his fingers, a gesture that was part human caress, part _ozh'esta_. "I love you to pieces, darlin'. I want to share it with you any way I can, every chance I get. I never want to stop telling you I love you."

He felt a surge of sweet affection from her. She closed her hand over his, her gaze warm and welcoming, and said softly, "Dinner can wait."

* * *

"There's a vessel," Ayelborne reported. "Configuration and markings don't match any information on file." With unmistakable eagerness, he added, "It's altering course, approaching the planet."

_So it begins again_. Claymare recalled a time when he'd felt that same thrill of anticipation regarding the prospect of observing a new species...centuries ago, before he'd stopped expecting to find any race among these short-lived corporeals with any appreciable potential.

His new apprentice was clearly still flush with idealism and hope. That would fade, of course, as time passed and the disappointing predictability of these physical beings dulled his interest.

"Mind the protocols," Claymare instructed the junior Observer. "Objectivity and dispassion are key. We are here to study and report, not to theorize or make judgments."

Ayelborne made an effort to affect a calmer demeanor. "I'll remember."

Together, they awaited the vessel's arrival.

-tbc-


	9. Observations

**Redivivus  
**by HopefulRomantic

Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: _Star Trek: Enterprise_ is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

A/N: pookha floated the notion that the two Observers from "Observer Effect" could be Ayelborne and Claymare, the Organians of the TOS episode "Errand of Mercy." The idea intrigued me, so I ran with it. Thanks for that, pookha, and for a whole mess of other musings you shared regarding "Observer Effect." I also referenced the terrific _Enterprise_ deck plans created by Waxing Moon Design.

Thanks as always to my betas slj91 and boushh.

* * *

Chapter Nine: _Observations_

_Hour One_

_September 23, 2154  
__1307 hours  
__Shuttlepod One  
__en route to Enterprise_

Trip thought he was going to die.

As soon as he stopped coughing and got his breath back, the nausea hit, wave after wave of it, fierce and unrelenting. Between bouts of vomiting, he was dimly aware of Hoshi beside him, pressing sick bags into his hands, briefly stroking his sweating brow in comfort. Then she would be gone, back to the helm controls, steering the shuttlepod homeward. He was grateful she was there, doing the job he couldn't.

Every jostle and bump of the docking process made his stomach lurch, but Hoshi got the shuttlepod secured in the launch bay in one piece. By the time she returned her attention to him, Trip was curled up on the deck, pale and spent, surrounded by the mess he'd made.

"You need another bag?" she asked.

"God, I hope not. I'm really tired of puking."

With surprising strength for one so small, she pulled him to his feet. Feebly, he tried to keep her at a distance. "You shouldn't be anywhere near me."

"We've been in each other's pockets for two days straight, Commander," she said pragmatically. "If I was going to catch it, I've got it already. There's no use worrying about it now."

Trip sighed. "I suppose you're right. I just wouldn't wish this bug on anybody."

"Come on, lean on me." Slowly, she helped him into Decon. He managed not to throw up again as she gently eased him onto a bunk.

A minute later, when Hoshi made a mad dash for the bathroom herself, it was pretty clear that she had it too. "I'll prepare anti-nausea medication," Phlox said from the viewing window. "You get me those blood samples as soon as you can."

Trip started to nod—and abruptly stopped as the room sloshed sickly back and forth. He shut his eyes tight, fighting the dizziness and nausea with gritted teeth.

He heard Captain Archer's voice from the window. "Trip, there's someone else here to see you."

"In a sec..." Trip was afraid to open his eyes just yet. But even as he drew in another pinched breath, he felt his stomach settling a little, and the vertigo easing. Cautiously, he glanced toward the window.

Phlox and Archer had already left. T'Pol was alone in the corridor, framed by the viewing window. She was the most beautiful thing Trip could imagine laying eyes on at the moment. He felt her mental touch soothing him, taking the edge off his discomfort. He managed a smile. "How are you doing that?"

"It is only temporary," she said. "A simple matter of triggering the release of endorphins."

If he weren't trying so hard not to barf, he would've messed with her about that "simple" claim. Must be nice, being Vulcan. Right now he was just glad she was doing it. "You'll have to teach me that sometime."

"I shall."

She was being awfully nice, considering he'd basically abandoned her for two days right after moving in with her. He felt bad about that. "Sorry," he said contritely. "This isn't exactly the homecoming I planned."

"No matter," she replied. "You are home. That pleases me, whatever the circumstances."

"You actually make me feel less terrible about it." Carefully, he got to his feet. The room spun and his stomach churned. "Urrgh...a _little_ less terrible."

He felt her concern as he shuffled gingerly toward the viewing window. "If you are feeling ill," she said, "it may be more prudent for you to move as little as possible."

"Doc needs these blood samples." As Trip bent to retrieve the test kits, the nausea almost overtook him. Slowly, he straightened, gripping the kits in one shaky hand as he braced against the sill with the other. He felt self-conscious, knowing T'Pol was watching him, feeling his suffering. "You should go on back to work," he said gruffly. "I don't like anyone fussin' over me when I'm feelin' poorly."

She raised an eyebrow, looking a little surprised. "Very well."

As she turned to go, Trip felt like six kinds of fool. "T'Pol..."

She stopped, returning to the window, her expression quietly expectant. "Look, I'm an idiot," Trip said. "I'm glad you came. I'm just used to being sick all by myself. I don't know how to do it like this."

He felt a wave of compassion from her. "You are not an idiot," she said calmly. "And I don't wish to cause you discomfort."

"I'd better get well, then."

"Agreed."

He put his hand up to the window, and she did the same. He felt her more strongly...was it his imagination? He wished he could touch her. They were separated by only a centimeter of glassteel, but it might as well be a light-year.

He felt her reach out through the bond and embrace him, surrounding and suffusing him with love and energy. He felt a little more equilibrium returning.

"I missed you, darlin'," he said softly. She was always with him, of course...but he was human, a sensual creature. He loved the feel of her skin, the sound of her voice, the sweet scent of her. He missed _being_ with her.

In his mind's eye, she smiled affectionately. "Soon, _t'hai'la_, we will be together again."

* * *

_1352 hours  
__Decon chamber_

Trip watched from his bunk as Hoshi pulled another blanket from the stack. "Okay, I've got one," he said. "What movie do you want to see when we get out of here?"

Hoshi settled herself on the bunk across from his, tucking the second blanket around her lap as she mulled over the question. "Some happy little fantasy-land where there's no garbage, and nobody is sick, and it's loud. With people everywhere."

Trip smiled. "It sounds to me like you need one of those musicals from the mid-twentieth century. Hmm...I've got it. _The Music Man_. It's squeaky clean, the whole town is in the story singing and dancing by the end, the band is really noisy, and they all live happily ever after."

"I'm _there_," Hoshi declared. Trip laughed, and she smiled at him. "What's your movie?" she asked.

Trip spread his hands helplessly. "The only one I can think of right now is _The Andromeda Strain_."

"Strain of what?"

"No—it's about an extraterrestrial disease."

"Another horror movie?" Hoshi rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless."

He shrugged. "You have your happily ever after, I have mine."

"Let me guess. Doctor Andromeda builds a monster, and it kills him in the end."

Now it was Trip's turn to do the eye-rolling. "No. Andromeda's the monster. Well, actually, it's not a monster, it's alien. It attacks the good guys—"

"—But the Andromeda alien _strains_ something during the attack!" Hoshi cut in. "Which gives the good guys a chance to escape, and..." She stopped as Trip dissolved into laughter. She giggled. "Ohhh, I must have a lot of drugs in me."

"I think we both do. Time to pick another one."

She fussed with her blankets for a bit. "Okay. Most embarrassing moment since we joined _Enterprise_."

Trip sank down until he was lying on his side, looking crookedly up at her. "Most? But there are so _many_."

"One, then. A representative embarrassing moment."

Trip chewed his lip. "Remember when we found that planet with the pollen that made the landing party hallucinate and get all paranoid?"

She thought back. "Oh, yeah...you held a phase pistol on T'Pol."

He waggled his finger at her in protest. "That wasn't the worst part."

"You might want to check with T'Pol about that."

"The worst part was before, when we were camped outside. Travis and I were getting ready to turn in for the night when I found this big-ass bug in my sleeping bag. Huge. Big as your fist." Trip grimaced sheepishly. "I screamed like a girl."

Hoshi laughed. "See?" Trip said. "Way worse than the phase pistol wigout. Now you."

She pursed her lips. "Hmm...my first away mission. First time in an EV suit, not in simulation. And the captain was leading the away team. I was nervous, fighting claustrophobia, practically hyperventilating...and I saw my first dead body. And...I screamed like a girl."

Trip chuckled in sympathy. "That was a long time ago."

She smiled wryly. "Yeah, now my screams are robust and mature."

Trip knew Hoshi was referring to her capture by the Xindi-Reptilians. Back in February, they had both been cooped up in sickbay for follow-up treatment, and they had killed time comparing injuries, and eventually, torture stories. Trip got the impression Hoshi hadn't opened up to anyone else, except perhaps Phlox.

He sat up, stretching his legs out. "Don't think you're anything special. If I had Xindi parasites burrowing into my head, I expect my screams would be impressively bloodcurdling."

She was silent for a moment, fiddling with a corner of her blanket. "Do you have bad dreams?"

"About what?"

"When those Nazis had you."

Trip remembered what she had told him about her confinement, and what she'd suffered at the hands of those bastards. She had even tried to kill herself in a last-ditch effort to escape them. No wonder she had nightmares.

"I was lucky," he replied. "The guys who worked me over weren't too sophisticated. They just beat the crap out of me trying to get me to talk." He paused. "I had nightmares about other things. My sister. Captain Archer, when we thought we'd lost him. T'Pol, while the Orions had her."

Hoshi pulled her blanket more closely around her. "Even after all these months...I dunno. The dreams go away, and I think I'm fine...but then there'll come a night when I wake up in a cold sweat, shaking, thinking those things are crawling around inside my brain again, turning me into a puppet..." She shook her head, as if trying to banish the images.

"Night terrors," Trip mused quietly. "Sometimes I'd be out of bed and halfway across the room before I realized that what I was trying to run away from was just a dream."

"You had them too?" She regarded him with weary understanding. "How'd you make them go away?"

"I didn't _make_ 'em do anything," he admitted. "It's more like...I stopped running away, and started looking at things differently." He shrugged. "I just had to tough it out."

Hoshi looked down, her dark eyes pensive. "Sometimes I don't feel so tough."

He leaned forward. "Hey. You're here, alive, and those sons of bitches who kidnapped you are space dust, because you hung on and fought back. That makes you plenty tough, Hoshi."

As his words sank in, he saw a tiny smile appear on her face...nothing spectacular, but it was genuine enough.

He sat back again. "So whose turn is it? Yours?"

She settled a little more comfortably against the wall. "All right. Worst meal."

Trip made a face. "That's easy. Blood soup."

She frowned. "Sounds Klingon."

"Not Klingon. Worse."

She regarded him skeptically. "Have you ever eaten _gagh_?"

Trip crossed his arms. "Blood soup is worse."

Hoshi looked intrigued. "You can't stop there."

Firmly, he shook his head. "If I talk about it, I'll just start barfing again. Trust me, you don't want to know..."

* * *

_Hour Two_

_1414 hours  
__Captain's Ready Room_

..._At the rate the pathogen is reproducing, Commander Tucker and Ensign Sato have less than five hours to live._

Archer was still reeling from Phlox's prognosis when he called T'Pol into his ready room to fill her in. She took the news like, well, a Vulcan: the only visible reaction she showed was to swallow hard.

"Does Trip know?" she asked.

Archer shook his head. "I thought you would want to tell him."

She was silent for a moment. "No," she said at last. "That would not be wise."

He was thunderstruck. "Why not?"

"He does not wish for me to...'fuss' over him." She seemed bemused...and for the first time, Archer got the impression that she might be a bit hurt.

"Did he say that?"

"Not precisely. His behavior was contradictory." T'Pol paused again, uncertain. "He was glad to see me, but also discomfited."

Archer was beginning to understand, a little. "You know how independent Trip is. He's never been any good at being sick. But there may be something more at work here. It probably troubles him that you're suffering along with him."

She shook her head in bafflement. "But we are _bonded_."

"T'Pol, this is still awfully new to him," Archer said gently. "He's looking at it from a human perspective. He may be trying to spare you, as best as he can make sense of it."

Her brows knitted as she struggled to understand. "Then...I must allow him to spare me," she finally said. "I shall focus on assisting Dr. Phlox. Perhaps you could talk with Trip?"

"Of course." Seeing her lingering concern, he added, "It's not as if you can't keep an eye on him through your bond."

T'Pol pursed her lips, a tiny human expression of frustration she had picked up after years of serving aboard _Enterprise_. "Trip has been working diligently to become more adept at mental shielding. He has made significant progress in the past several months...so much so that I cannot clearly determine his condition at times."

Archer's mouth fell open. Trip was blocking T'Pol—! It was the last thing he had expected. Oh, the irony.

"I'll see what I can find out for you," he told her.

The tense set of her shoulders eased a little. "Thank you, Captain."

* * *

_1455 hours  
__Decon chamber_

Trip felt like crap. He tried to take shallow breaths—his lungs hurt less that way—and fought to keep his concentration on Hoshi as she ran a wet washcloth over her perspiring face. She didn't look as bad as he felt; he hoped she didn't feel as bad, either. "Aikido?"

Hoshi nodded as she held the cloth against her throat. "When none of my Starfleet-issue self-defense training worked against the Xindi, I figured I needed to do something. And anyway, I was tired of being such a white knuckler out here."

"Who's your sensei?"

"Corporal Romero. He was with the MACO squad on _Enterprise_ last year. He's stationed on Earth now, but since aikido training is mostly a two-partner technique, Private Money fills in as my training partner here on the ship."

Despite his fogginess, Trip raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Why Romero?"

"I ran into him at the memorial for Major Hayes," she answered. "We got to talking..."

She sounded too casual. Big giveaway. Trip wasn't about to fall for it. "Was he by any chance the one you hooked up with on _E²_?"

Hoshi folded her washcloth. "Maybe."

"So...?" Trip prompted.

Hoshi broke into a sweet, self-conscious smile. "So...he's my sensei. Very nice, very no-nonsense."

Trip pouted. "That's no fun."

She cocked her head in amusement. "What were you expecting? 'The earth moved'? 'The skies wept'?"

"MACOs need love too, don't they? I thought you would've at least—" Trip stopped, interrupted by a sudden sound. No, wait...it was a sudden _absence_.

"What is it?" Hoshi asked.

"Something's wrong," he murmured softly. "Something's off. Too quiet..." It was the bond. It had practically disappeared. T'Pol was barely there, almost impossible for him to pick up. He felt less than when she was asleep.

Belatedly, he realized Hoshi had said something to him. "What?" he asked.

"You were saying something was wrong," she repeated. "What is it?"

Trip hesitated. His bond with T'Pol wasn't common knowledge; they had thought it the best course, considering the xenophobe threat. It was their concession to Admiral Gardner's warnings. "Uh—not sure, exactly," he stammered, trying to think up an excuse. "Just a feeling." Maybe if he began jabbering about the engines...

But Hoshi wasn't listening anymore. Silently, she motioned toward the viewing window.

Phlox and T'Pol were in the corridor, watching them.

_Speak of the devil._ "How long have they been there?" Trip asked Hoshi in a low voice.

Hoshi called out to T'Pol and the doc. "We didn't see you there."

"We didn't want to interrupt you," Phlox said pleasantly.

Trip squinted at him. Why would Phlox waste time eavesdropping on his patients—his seriously ill patients—instead of doing whatever he came here to do? "How's the research coming?" Trip prodded.

"We're waiting on new test results," T'Pol replied. She seemed formal, distant. Maybe she was acting more reserved because Phlox and Hoshi were there. Or maybe Trip just missed feeling her resonating inside his head.

"We thought we'd see how you two were progressing," Phlox said. His attitude was downright jolly.

This was getting damned creepy. "You're the ones with the medical scanners," Trip pointed out with a scowl.

"We were more interested in discussing your state of mind," the doc smiled.

_I'm tired of being treated like a lab rat,_ Trip thought sourly. He approached the window. Even with T'Pol close by, the bond was nearly imperceptible. Quietly, out of Hoshi's earshot, he asked, "Is something wrong?"

T'Pol looked confused. "Wrong?"

"I can hardly sense you at all," he said. "Did anything happen with the bond?"

She stared at him for a long moment before replying. "Perhaps your illness has somehow...inhibited..." She trailed off.

"You think?" He turned hopefully to Phlox.

The doctor looked uncertain. "We'll investigate it, certainly."

Trip noticed that T'Pol's face wasn't its usual mask of composure; it was completely devoid of expression. Blank. Empty. It was a hell of a thing, not being able to read her now, of all times. He was at an awful disadvantage. "You're okay, aren't you?"

She didn't show even the tiniest trace of unease. "Why do you ask?"

He chewed his lip. "You seem a little...off."

"My attention has largely been focused on the virus," she said. "I've been working with Dr. Phlox to find a cure."

Of course! Trip felt relieved, and a little foolish not to have seen it. Between the virus and the drugs, his head must be pretty fogged. "Sure. I should've realized."

"I assure you, I am in perfect health."

"Good." He grinned. "The last thing I need now is to get the worst possible news."

She looked puzzled. "I would have thought the worst possible news would be that we could not develop a cure."

"No," he said, more quietly. "The worst news would be that you'd caught it too."

She cocked her head, holding his eyes. She seemed more intrigued than anything else. He really couldn't read her worth a damn right now.

"We must leave," Phlox said. "It's time for us to get back to work."

"Yes," T'Pol agreed.

"Be safe, _t'hai'la_," Trip told her. Slowly, she nodded. He put two fingers briefly to his lips, then held them out to her—his version of blowing her a Vulcan kiss—before returning to his bunk.

He was amazed to discover how much he'd grown accustomed to having her inside his head. Now, with her presence so muted, his mind felt starkly quiet and alone.

He missed her.

xx-xx-xx

Ayelborne studied his fellow Observer curiously as they both headed away from the Decon chamber. "Claymare? What was that all about?"

Claymare was in the midst of a brief internal exam of his host's higher brain functions. "The science officer and the engineer apparently share some sort of psychic link. He could sense that her consciousness had been suppressed. I shall have to alter both their memories when I vacate this host."

"A link?" Ayelborne was intrigued. "How sophisticated? Is it telepathy? That doesn't appear to be a common trait among the humans."

"It's merely an elemental empathic connection." Claymare explored the link further. "The Vulcan has natural telepathic ability, though largely untapped. I assume the link originated with her. The human has no latent psychic ability."

"That doesn't mean he can't benefit from his enlightened perspective," Ayelborne reasoned. "This aspect of the species might be worth further study. An emotional link to another sentient being would, in theory, afford him a higher awareness."

"Which would be meaningless if his intelligence level is not sufficiently developed," Claymare countered. "The link could simply be another form of communication."

Ayelborne didn't understand why his superior refused to see the possibilities. "Do you want the humans to fail?"

"This isn't a competition," Claymare replied mildly. "Either a species' intelligence is developed enough for First Contact, or it isn't."

"Perhaps we should consider other qualities in making our decision," Ayelborne suggested. "The ability to maintain a continuous empathic link with another sentient mind indicates the potential not only that humans are capable of an awareness beyond the self, but that they are able to act upon that awareness."

"Or the Vulcan could be using the human as a tool—manipulating his mind through the link," Claymare argued. "There is no way of knowing whether all Vulcans are telepaths, or if so, what use they make of their ability. We cannot leap to conclusions without evidence. Perhaps if we were to encounter them in sufficient numbers for an initial study... But no matter. We are not here to study Vulcans, or to defy protocol. Intelligence is the measure we have used for ten thousand years. It's not our responsibility to change it."

"Then whose responsibility is it?" Ayelborne inquired.

No one had ever put that question to Claymare before. He was at a loss how to address it, so he chose not to address it at all. "Our hosts have tasks to perform."

As he adjusted the science officer's memories, Claymare reflected that Ayelborne's interest would naturally be piqued by the human's empathic connection, no matter how irrelevant it might be. Ayelborne had been given this assignment, in part, because he had a certain facility for comprehending the emotions in which these corporeals steeped themselves. In fact, he seemed oddly drawn to them. It was a quirk in his makeup, a throwback to the ancients who had once been slaves to emotion as well.

Claymare, in contrast, found emotion to be a uniquely unpleasant and baffling phenomenon. Ayelborne might have an exasperating enthusiasm for new ideas, but Claymare was only too glad to let him take on part of the burden of close-up study of these emotional beings. And if Ayelborne's perspective was occasionally colored by his peculiar gift, Claymare's own talent—his unwavering impartiality—would maintain the balance of things.

xx-xx-xx

Hoshi eyed Trip curiously as he sat on his bunk. "So?"

"Huh?"

"T'Pol. Phlox. What did they want? You look a little confused."

Trip's thoughts were sort of jumbled up, now that she mentioned it. Must be all the drugs Phlox was giving them for the pain—it made him fuzzy-headed. "They were just checking up on us...I think," he said. Yeah, that was it. He remembered the same questions they'd been getting from everyone. Everyone except Travis, anyway. That had been one weird visit.

Trip seemed to recall some question or other about the effect of the virus on the bond...but he couldn't remember the particulars. And the bond was fine; he felt it steady and strong, as always. It was reassuring to know that his connection with T'Pol would always be there, and that he would never feel alone.

He turned his attention back to Hoshi. "So where were we...?" He grinned. "I remember now. Corporal Romero."

She gave him a look. "Are you going to start? I'm warning you, I've had martial arts training."

"I don't suppose he knows about _E²'s_ personnel records, by any chance?" Trip teased.

Hoshi dried her face with a fresh towel. "No, and I didn't volunteer anything. Just because we got together in that other timeline, doesn't mean we will here."

Trip snickered. "That's what T'Pol said about the two of us, before she knew better..."

* * *

_Hour Three_

_1544 hours  
__Sickbay_

Archer watched the blue-tinged image of Trip stare up at the monitor in disbelief, his grip tightening on the hypospray in his hand. He was weaving on his feet, barely able to stand; chasing down Hoshi must have taken every ounce of strength he had left. "You think I'm gonna wander off too? Start opening the wrong doors?"

"Not if you're sedated," Phlox replied quietly. Archer marveled at the doctor's ability to sound so calm. The decision to sedate Trip had been a difficult one, but they had narrowly averted disaster with Hoshi, and there was the entire crew's safety to consider.

Even so, Archer felt like a monster. "Sorry, Trip," he said. His voice sounded hoarse and unconvincing to his ears.

Trip's shoulders slumped, signaling acquiescence. He dialed up the proper dosage on the hypospray "T'Pol...is she there?"

She had come with Archer from the bridge. He wished she could have met Trip outside Decon, at the viewing window, but that corridor was part of the quarantine zone now. He and Phlox stepped back as T'Pol moved into Trip's field of view. "I'm here, _t'hai'la_."

Trip took hold of the sill to steady himself as he gazed up at her. "You know what's goin' on, then."

"Yes."

Archer looked away, but even across the room, he could hear Trip's every word. The speakers were turned up, of course, to alert sickbay of any problems in Decon.

Trip's voice was rough. "Darlin'...I want you to break the bond."

T'Pol was silent for a long moment. "Why do you say this?" she finally asked. She sounded thunderstruck.

His words tumbled out in a rush. "Because I don't know if I'm ever gonna wake up again, and I don't want you to feel me die."

"Even if I could sever the bond, I would not," she said firmly. "I'll never leave you, _t'hai'la_."

"But the other T'Pol...she damn near _died_."

"She survived," T'Pol said, her tone quietly reassuring. "If she thought as I do, she would be glad that she and her bondmate were together. And she would take you to task for wasting your energy in this way."

"She'd know I'm just bein' human."

"And if the roles were reversed? Would you abandon me?"

There was a long, disgruntled silence. Then, "I hate logic sometimes."

"Trip." Her voice was calm. "I have no regrets."

A sigh of acceptance from him. "Okay."

"Be at peace now," she murmured soothingly. "Think of a place of fond memory, where you feel safe, and go there in your mind. I'll be watching over you."

"You're my forever." Trip's voice was soft, heartfelt. "You know that, don't you?"

"And you are mine."

Archer felt his eyes stinging. He looked up at the ceiling, blinking the tears back, swallowing hard.

There was a scuff of shuffling feet from the Decon speakers. Archer looked back to the viewscreen. Trip was making his way unsteadily to his bunk. He turned to face the monitor. "Cap'n? Phlox? Do whatever you gotta do to cure this thing."

The two men joined T'Pol at the viewscreen. Somehow, Archer kept his voice steady. "Will do, Trip."

As Trip pressed the hypospray to his neck, he focused on T'Pol. Her radiant face would be the last thing he saw as consciousness slipped away. Archer heard the soft hiss of the activator, and then his friend collapsed onto the bunk. It was done.

T'Pol looked at the floor for a long moment. "Will he awaken, Doctor?" Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"I'll do everything in my power to see that he does," Phlox replied.

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. When she looked up again, her face was carefully composed. "I'll continue my research."

He held up a hand. "Actually, Commander, I don't need you for a little while. I'm waiting on some further test results."

She hesitated. "There are still more computer simulations I can run to determine an acceptable dosage of radiation—"

"You're in the eye of the storm now, T'Pol," the doctor said gently. "I urge you to take advantage of this short calm. I'll call you when I have the results."

Archer realized Phlox was giving her the chance to brace herself for what lay ahead. What did the doctor often say?... _Hope for the best, prepare for the worst..._

T'Pol seemed reluctant to leave, but she dutifully nodded. "As you wish. I'll be in my quarters."

As soon as she had gone, Phlox turned to Archer. "You too, Captain. Surely the bridge can do without you for a few minutes."

"What's this about radiation?" Archer asked.

"T'Pol and I have isolated a specific frequency that disrupts the silicon matrix of the virus," the doctor explained. "Unfortunately, the dosage required would be lethal."

Archer wanted to scream. If the universe was determined to be this cruel, was there any use in hoping?

_Yes_, he told himself. As long as Trip and Hoshi were alive, there _must_ be hope. To Phlox, he said, "There's got to be a solution. Some kind of a trade-off."

Phlox was already nodding. "That's what I'm working on."

He looked nearly as worn out as Trip. Archer laid a hand briefly on the doctor's shoulder, in a show of trust and support. "Work faster," he said simply, before heading out.

* * *

_1556 hours  
__First Officer's / Chief Engineer's Quarters_

T'Pol wandered from one room to the other, running her hands lightly over the items on Trip's desk, aimlessly straightening things that didn't need straightening. On the bed, she saw the fresh uniform she had set out this morning in anticipation of his return. She folded it to put it away...then paused, bringing the neat bundle close to her face, inhaling the faint scent of him that still clung to the fabric, even after being cleaned.

She sat on the bed, surveying their cabin...the home they had made for themselves, for the life they hoped to share together. Even this morning, when she had awakened alone here, these quarters had not seemed as lonely as they did now...

The door chime buzzed. "Enter," she said.

She was not surprised to see that her visitor was Captain Archer. He hung back in the doorway. "Am I intruding?"

"No," she said. "Please, come in."

He took a few steps inside, remaining near the door, half in shadow. He seemed unsure what to do with himself. "How's Trip?" he asked.

T'Pol could barely sense Trip through the bond, now that he was sedated. Nevertheless, she did feel an undercurrent of tranquillity, and an absence of pain. "He is at peace."

The captain nodded. He began an idle wander through the cabin, much as T'Pol had done moments ago. He took a framed photograph from a shelf—the picture of Trip scuba diving off the Florida Keys, T'Pol recalled—and studied it. Surely he was already familiar with it; perhaps he was making an attempt not to pace or fidget, as he often did when under great stress.

T'Pol rose, crossing to the dresser to put the uniform away. "I lost my mother with no warning, no chance to prepare. I am uncertain whether knowing beforehand is better or worse."

"It took my father two years to die," Archer said quietly, replacing the photo. "No matter how much time you have, or don't have, losing someone you love is a nightmare." He picked up a Frankenstein's Monster figurine perched on another shelf, giving it a fond, fleeting smile before his expression sobered once more. "I'm sorry, T'Pol. I shouldn't have decided to go poking around on that planet."

"Attempting to assign blame is fruitless," she replied. "One might as well hold the sensors responsible for detecting the planet, or me for enhancing those sensors, or Trip for asking to join the away mission."

With a soft sigh, Archer sat on the bed, absently fingering the toy. "When I took command four years ago, I was so eager to explore. I thought all the risks would be worthwhile because, just beyond the next planet, just beyond the next star, there would be something magnificent, something noble. And now Trip..."

"Trip would be the first to agree that it has been worthwhile," T'Pol said.

Their eyes met...two friends at the brink of a chasm of grief, finding solace in each other's understanding.

T'Pol allowed her gaze to stray back to the shelf, to a clutter of family pictures...Trip, Elizabeth and David, Catherine and Chuck. "It will be difficult for his parents. They have already lost one child."

"It's not over yet," Archer said, his voice taking on an edge of steel. He stood, returning the figurine to its place on the shelf. "Trip is a fighter. Phlox won't give up."

"I am confident in Phlox's skill, but I must be realistic," T'Pol stated evenly. "The probability of Trip surviving is exceedingly small."

Archer regarded her almost challengingly. "A positive attitude makes a big difference to us humans, even in the face of seemingly impossible odds."

She noticed that the characteristic fire in his eyes, conspicuously absent when he first entered, had returned. "Is this where your belief in miracles comes from? The need to hope for the impossible to come to pass?"

"Maybe." Faintly, he smiled. "Sometimes impossible dreams come true. Look at the two of you."

* * *

_1559 hours  
__Decon chamber_

Ayelborne sat up in the engineer's body, startled by the toll the virus had taken on it. "The sensations in this host are different from the others. I'm experiencing physical pain."

"So am I," Claymare said dismissively. "I find emotion to be infinitely more uncomfortable. I can't fathom how you withstand them."

"We each have our gifts, Claymare." Ayelborne doubted he could explain it, really. The corporeals' emotions were intensely painful to him, but he was able to manage them well enough...perhaps because he understood them to some degree. His study of them had been fascinating thus far. His scan of the ship's database indicated that emotions influenced the lives of these fragile beings in myriad ways, from their food choices to their companions, their idioms and customs, their spiritual beliefs and artistic endeavors—and, it was becoming apparent to Ayelborne, their moral choices.

"That last exchange between the engineer and the science officer," he said to Claymare. "He is the one who is dying, yet he is far more concerned with her well-being. Have you ever observed this before?"

His superior did not seem impressed. "They're mates. You'll find an eagerness for self-sacrifice among parents or mates of a variety of lower lifeforms, far more primitive than humans."

Ayelborne was puzzled. "But he pleaded for her to sever their empathic link because he wished to spare her harm. It is a compelling indication to me of a greater awareness."

"You've scanned the database," Claymare responded. "Human literature is filled with similar pledges that, in crisis, are never followed through with."

"That doesn't mean this human would falter as well."

Claymare eyed him skeptically. "There is a huge body of evidence to indicate that he would do _exactly_ that. Corporeals are driven by fear—fear of death, fear of pain. This human has clearly accepted the inevitability of his impending death. As it approaches, he will seek the safest end. His mate's psychic connection will numb his pain and ease his fear."

"Perhaps this one is different," Ayelborne persisted. "He is the only one mated to an alien."

"Precisely," Claymare pointed out. "Even if this human's desire for mercy is sincere, he may be an anomaly because of his exposure to the alien."

What did Claymare have against this species? Likely nothing; Ayelborne knew his superior was highly esteemed for his impartiality. And Claymare's hypothesis could well be correct. He was a veteran Observer, drawing from hundreds of years' worth of incidents, while Ayelborne was a novice. Still, Ayelborne's own observations, coupled with his odd gift, kept insisting that the humans _were_ different.

Could it be that Ayelborne was seeing something that Claymare, for all his skills and experience, simply could not see?

-tbc-


	10. Mercy

**Redivivus  
**by HopefulRomantic

Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: _Star Trek: Enterprise_ is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

A/N: Note: /dialogue between slashes/ is inner-thought bondspeak.

Thanks as always to my betas boushh and slj91.

* * *

Chapter Ten: _Mercy_

_Hour Five_

_1704 hours  
__Situation Room_

T'Pol called up the schematic of E-Deck on the situation room's display table. "To move them from Decon to sickbay, we'll need to expand the quarantine area." She traced out the pathway she had devised, which skirted a section of biological science labs and stayed well away from any crew quarters.

Archer studied the highlighted pathway and nodded. "That won't be a problem." He looked determinedly from her to Phlox. "We're going to make this work."

Phlox nodded. "I'll prepare the bio-scanner in sickbay."

"Call me as soon as everything's ready," Archer said. "I'll suit up."

As Phlox headed for the turbolift, Archer turned to T'Pol. "Have Malcolm make sure all personnel are clear of the area. Seal off those corridors yourself—I don't want any mistakes."

He started for the lift as well, but T'Pol stepped in his path, stopping him. "Captain, request permission to take your place."

"Denied." His voice was quiet rather than curt, as if he had expected her request.

She didn't back off. "The first officer of a vessel is more expendable than the captain."

"Not this time," he said. "If something goes wrong in there, you could replace Phlox and find a cure for the virus. You could replace me and take command of the ship. I can't say the same about myself."

She tried again. "Can I persuade you to send a different crewman instead? A medical technician, perhaps?"

"You know me better than that."

Indeed, T'Pol was well aware of the captain's predilection for putting others' safety before his own. Starfleet officers often exhibited the behavior, but Archer was especially prone to it; he was quite devoted to his ship and crew, and considered himself personally responsible for their well-being.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she stepped aside. The captain had made his decision, and she knew that no amount of logic would dissuade him. "It was my duty to make the attempt. You know _me_, Captain."

He flashed a grin at her. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Commander." His eyes softened with sympathy. "I know you want to be with Trip, but you'll be the most important crew member I have out here, after Phlox and I enter the quarantine zone. I'm depending on you."

"Sir, I must remind you..." T'Pol drew herself up, endeavoring to maintain her composure. Evenly, she said, "If the bond is severed, there is the possibility that I may become incapacitated."

Archer took her lightly by the shoulders. "T'Pol, you're strong, and you're stubborn, and you have the will to survive. I have no doubt about that. Whatever happens, you'll get through it."

She nodded, reassured by his calm certainty. _Am I hoping for a miracle? Or adopting a positive attitude, as he has?_ One was as illogical as the other.

They walked to the turbolift together. As the captain stepped inside, he gave T'Pol a confident nod. Then the door slid shut, and he was gone.

* * *

_1739 hours  
__Sickbay_

"Right now, _Enterprise_ needs a doctor more than it needs a captain!" Archer pulled out of Phlox's grasp. The Denobulan made no further protest, watching in wide-eyed silence as the captain stripped the seal from his EV gloves and pulled them off, exposing himself to sickbay's air, and to the silicon virus.

Once it was done, Phlox seemed to snap out of his shock, moving to Hoshi's side to prepare her for defibrillation.

xx-xx-xx

_Security annex  
__E-Deck_

Claymare ventured closer to the monitor, studying the captain with quiet astonishment. "Remarkable," he mused.

Ayelborne moved to stand beside the senior Observer. "In eight hundred years, no one's ever done that before?"

"No," Claymare admitted. "Not once they know it's hopeless."

"Then this is the corroborating evidence we lacked," Ayelborne said. "Archer's sacrifice to protect his doctor and crew validates the engineer's earlier attempt to protect his mate."

"Or Archer acted rashly, out of desperation," Claymare countered. "That would indicate something else entirely."

Ayelborne couldn't bear much more of this! Perhaps he wasn't as resilient as he had thought against the agony of human emotions. Their suffering was affecting him far more than his superior, that was clear enough.

He understood the need to avoid interference, but at what cost to these innocents? The harm they were coming to was pointless. He needed no more convincing that the humans were different. Claymare, however, was another matter.

* * *

_1741 hours  
__Bridge_

As she viewed the events unfolding in sickbay, T'Pol felt as though she were trapped in one of Trip's nightmares, unable to awaken. Curiously, time seemed to slow, enabling her to see the most minute of details...the delicate touch of Archer's fingers on the long-needled injector, the faint condensation fogging Phlox's faceplate, the tenderness with which the captain gathered up Hoshi's body from the exam table.

She heard Phlox's devastated voice as if from a great distance, telling Archer that the radiation treatment on Trip had failed. She now understood that sense of unreality that humans sometimes spoke of regarding events they could not process, either intellectually or emotionally. It was strangely difficult to accept that Hoshi was dead, that the captain soon would be, that T'Pol was about to lose her husband.

She felt her control beginning to slip away. _No! I cannot falter. I am Vulcan. I am Trip's bondmate; I am Archer's first officer. I will be strong; I must be. The needs of the many..._

As she had done countless times over the past hour, she reached out through the bond to Trip. Between the damage wrought by the virus and the sonambutril's sedating effect, he was virtually comatose, even his subconscious mind beyond her reach. His body was played out; the time for fighting was nearly over. She couldn't even tell if he was aware of her, but it didn't matter. She enfolded him in a mental embrace, endeavoring to give him, and herself, what comfort she could.

Archer approached the sickbay monitor. All of his earlier desperate energy was gone, leaving him subdued. "Archer to T'Pol." His voice sounded infinitely weary.

"T'Pol here, Captain."

"I take it you've been watching?"

"I have," she said.

"Then you know you're in command?"

He was dying. She was losing them both, her bondmate and her friend. For a moment, the grief threatened to overwhelm her again, to wash over her and drown her. _No! He is depending on me_. "Yes, Captain," she replied calmly.

"Admiral Gardner's a good man. He'll do his best to make sure you stay in command." Archer glanced back at Trip, lying on the exam table, his every breath a struggle for air. "How is he?" the captain asked, almost plaintively.

T'Pol found it difficult to speak. "Safe," she said softly. "Without pain."

Archer smiled faintly, before the sadness claimed his features again. "I'll look after him now. We'll talk after..." He faltered, his mouth working soundlessly for a moment before he composed himself once more. "We'll talk again. Archer out." The image from sickbay winked out.

T'Pol stared at the viewscreen without really seeing it. She felt light-headed, as if part of her were floating away. Was she sensing Trip's spirit coming loose from its mortal tether? Was her hold on him slipping away?

How in the name of Surak could she possibly survive this? Did she even want to?

"If you look like that, things must be pretty bad."

Startled, T'Pol looked up sharply at the familiar voice. Trip's voice.

She wasn't on the bridge any longer. She was sitting on a beach with sand as white as sugar crystals, looking out on an emerald-green sea. Clouds scudded past a sun that hung large and low in the sky. A lone sea bird drifted past overhead, its shrill cry carried aloft by the breeze.

Trip stood at the water's edge, watching the waves as they lapped against the shore.

She knew it couldn't be real. She was seeing it with her mind's eye, through the bond. It must be some sort of mental construct created by Trip, much like the daydream settings they had shared after they first became aware of their bond...had it been only three months ago? It was a remarkable environment, meticulously rendered down to the tiniest detail. She wished it could have been real.

She knew why Trip had compelled her to join him here in his mind. Time was short. Still, she rebelled. She wasn't ready for this. Would she ever be ready? Could she be?

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Panama City Beach," he said, as he gazed out on the water. "I used to camp here a lot when I was growing up. I'd look up at the moon and the stars, and wonder what it'd be like to go exploring out there." He turned to her. "This was one of the places I was going to show you when we got back..." He shrugged and smiled. "We didn't quite make it."

She felt her heartache stretching away, toward the setting sun. _How will I live without you?..._

Trip came nearer. "The captain...I can feel him. He's close, isn't he?"

She nodded. "He's watching over you. He did everything he could to save you."

Trip smiled affectionately...but then he scowled as he realized what she meant. "Dammit, I am gonna kick his _ass_."

T'Pol arched an eyebrow in mild reproach. "He was protecting Dr. Phlox. And the crew."

"Yeah, okay. But still!" Trip kicked at the sand.

"It is his way, _t'hai'la_."

"I know." With a sigh, he dropped to his knees beside her. "I'm sorry, darlin'. I shoulda stayed here with my wife and my engines, and not gone galloping off to some planet to play explorer. I musta been outta my mind."

T'Pol felt his remorse. "No," she said patiently. "Curiosity is a hallmark of your species. If not for your wish to explore new worlds, you would not have joined the crew of _Enterprise_. We would likely never have met. Rather than object to your curiosity, I am thankful for it."

He smiled again, but it was fleeting. "Now the same thing that brought us together is tearing us apart. What is that, fate? Destiny?"

"It is what it is," she said simply.

"You agree with Tennyson, then. 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.'"

She considered the quote, and nodded. "The benefits have far outweighed the detriments. It is logical."

He shook his head in admiration. "Leave it to you to analyze love and pronounce it logical."

The sun was sinking like a ball of fire into the ocean. The sky had darkened to a deep blue, and the breeze was cooling. There wasn't much time.

Trip took T'Pol's hand. "It doesn't seem fair to Lorian, me bailing on him all over again."

She felt the sure grip of his fingers, the calluses on his palm. "He is strong. He will understand."

"And God knows I don't want to leave you." He smiled, and she felt a surge of love from him. "I feel as if it took my whole life just to find you." He pulled her into the comfort of his arms. "Damn, I was looking forward to a lifetime of this. I wanted to grow old with you, have kids with you."

She nestled her head against his chest. "It is better for us to focus on the time we had together, rather than what might have been."

He stroked her hair. "Here I was thinking that a hundred years with you wouldn't be long enough. And now I get myself killed after three months."

She gazed serenely up at him. "We had three months, _t'hai'la_."

As he leaned down to kiss her, she saw tears in his eyes. He filled her senses one last time, encircling her with his mind and heart, touching her very soul. As she embraced him fiercely, part of her wished, quite irrationally, that she could keep him here by sheer force of will, simply by refusing to release her hold on him.

"I love you forever," he whispered. "You tell Lorian to keep his priorities straight."

_Stay with me..._

Gently, he began to pull away. "You have to let me go, darlin'."

She didn't want to. She wanted them to last forever.

"We will." He touched his fingers to her cheek in a delicate _ozh'esta_. "The hardest thing to do is to let go of someone you love. But I need you to keep on living, T'Pol. For me."

She leaned into his touch, feeling the bond resonate between them. "For you, I will." Summoning all her courage, she began to release him.

He smiled...that smile he saved for her alone. "I'll always be with you, _t'hai'la_. You won't have to look any further than your heart..."

And suddenly he was gone, and her soul was being torn to pieces.

* * *

_1745 hours  
__Bridge_

Phlox had pulled off his bulky EV suit as quickly as he could manage. He knew Captain Archer didn't want him out of sickbay and on the bridge merely for his own safety, but to check on Commander T'Pol. With Commander Tucker near death, she was at risk.

The turbolift ride seemed to take forever. At last the doors opened, and Phlox burst onto the bridge, medkit in hand. His stomach knotted when he saw the communications and helm officers rushing to the science station, catching T'Pol as she fell from her chair.

With her typical Vulcan reticence, T'Pol had spoken little about the matter of the bond earlier, saying only that if the worst came to pass, Phlox would be able to do little to help her, and that her survival would ultimately be up to her. Now it was all happening too quickly. He couldn't even take her to sickbay; it was under quarantine.

"Lay her down," he ordered briskly. As the two crewmen gently lowered T'Pol to the deck, Phlox knelt beside her. She was unresponsive, her eyes blank and unseeing. He ran his scanner over her: pulse weak and irregular, blood pressure dropping precipitously, skin pale and cooling to the touch, respirations shallow. Her pupils were fixed and dilated. It was some sort of shock.

Leaning close to her face, he spoke sharply to her. "T'Pol! Can you hear me?"

There was no response from her, no hint of recognition in those sightless eyes. He tried again. "You must wake up now. T'Pol!"

Wherever she had been driven by the severing of her bond with Tucker, it was beyond Phlox's reach. Her life signs were deteriorating rapidly; she was hardly breathing at all now. He didn't dare administer a stimulant without knowing whether it would unbalance her system even further. _Vulcans and their secrecy!_ He pulled a hand-held respirator from his medkit. "Don't give in to this, Commander," he told her in a stern voice, though inwardly he was pleading. "This ship needs you. Your crew needs you..."

xx-xx-xx

T'Pol was falling, tumbling into a black abyss. There was no warmth here, no sound, no joy or love, only the agony of loss. Surely this must be _bogozh_, the Vulcan hell of ancient legend...the endless torment of a broken bond. The pain blinded her, froze the air in her lungs, threatened to still her heart. But none of it mattered. There was no point, no logic in continuing—not without Trip. How could she endure alone in the harshness that was life—bereft, only half a soul, half a heart? She wished only for the darkness to swallow her up. Then there would be an end to her suffering, and she would have peace...

_Listen to me, T'Pol. You have a ship to command. Wake up..._

Phlox...a voice from far away, reminding her of...of what? The needs of the many. Her responsibility...a duty to uphold.

_You're in command. I'm depending on you._

Archer, her friend...a trust given.

_I need you to keep on living, T'Pol. For me._

Trip, her soulmate, her _t'hai'la_...a life lost.

_For you, I will._

A promise made...her promise to him.

_I must __live__!_

She had to live, for Trip. But in which direction lay life? She saw only blackness, felt nothing but excruciating emptiness.

She was lost.

* * *

_1747 hours  
__Sickbay_

It was obvious to Ayelborne that Archer was in great distress. He had been unable to save his engineer and communications officer. He was coming to grips with his own impending demise. And he could not fathom why two advanced beings—currently inhabiting the reanimated corpses of his dead crewmates—were allowing it all to happen, though they could have stopped it. At the moment, Ayelborne was wondering much the same thing.

He saw no trace of sympathy from Claymare, however. "We're leaving now, Captain," the senior Observer said to Archer. "You'll have no memory of our presence—"

Abruptly, the human began to cough, an early sign that the virus had taken hold of him. "Not that it matters," Claymare remarked. "In three hours, you'll be dead."

Ayelborne could not sanction this needless suffering any longer. "No," he said. "We have the power to save them all."

Claymare was clearly taken aback. "Are you defying me?"

"I'm defying the entire protocol," Ayelborne declared. "What Archer has done, his act of compassion—you've never witnessed it before. He and Tucker have demonstrated to my satisfaction that humans are sufficiently advanced for First Contact. In fact, their actions indicate that our criteria for making that determination should be broadened. Intelligence alone is not a sufficient measure."

Claymare seemed unwilling to go along with either Ayelborne's decision or his argument; the elder was far too unsettled by the idea of dispensing with protocol. "This is your first observation, Ayelborne," he said carefully. "You are basing your findings on evidence that is decidedly unorthodox, from a tiny sampling. In time, we'll study other humans. If we see a pattern—"

Archer spoke, startling him. "There's another way. Experience compassion for yourself. If you want to know what it means to be human, you need to do more than observe."

Claymare stared at him. Ayelborne couldn't tell if his superior was more shocked or revolted by the captain's suggestion.

"It is unthinkable," Claymare finally responded. "We have adhered strictly to a protocol of non-interference for ten thousand years."

"That is the problem," Ayelborne said flatly. Claymare turned to him in puzzlement. Ayelborne continued, "Efficient routine can lapse into stagnation. Detachment can turn to indifference. We become so accustomed to protocol, so complacent with keeping our distance, that we can no longer recognize the remarkable when it presents itself." He pointed to Archer. "We lose sight of our ability to effect change at all."

"Would you have us interfere with the development of others?" Claymare demanded. "That is unacceptable."

"Of course, if done heedlessly," Ayelborne agreed. "But what if our intervention were done responsibly? What if we were to assist, nurture, prevent...even teach by example, perhaps?"

Archer stood still and silent in his corner of the room, following the debate with anxious fascination.

"We have evolved beyond that point," Claymare said dismissively.

"Perhaps we have evolved _to_ that point," Ayelborne replied. "Organians abhor violence, and we do no harm to others. But what if we are presented with a situation with the _potential_ for violence, or suffering, or a risk to life? If we, through inaction, allow it to come to pass, there is little difference than if we committed the wrong ourselves."

Claymare didn't look entirely convinced. "It is not our place to police the universe."

"Of course not. But we can make a difference." Ayelborne regarded his partner earnestly. "If we have the power to be benevolent, how can we in good conscience continue to remain aloof?"

xx-xx-xx

A light pierced the darkness. Gratefully, T'Pol turned toward it. At last, she had a direction to follow, a beacon to lead her back to life. The light was brilliant, blinding, white-hot, enough to warm the endless cold of the void. She didn't know its source, but she could sense a powerful life force within...no, two...

/_T'hai'la?_/

She stopped. The voice didn't come from the radiant lights up ahead. It was another presence, heartbreakingly familiar. The voice was so faint that T'Pol felt it rather than heard it, deep within her mind, in the part of her consciousness she thought had been lost forever. She reached out with the tattered remnants of her bond...

/_Trip?_/

She could feel him now. He was confused, disoriented...but he was her beloved, and somehow, he was alive again. With quiet desperation, she began searching the blackness...

There! A tiny pinpoint of light, flickering to life. She embraced it, warming it, fanning its delicate flame brighter. It began to grow...

* * *

_1751 hours  
__Sickbay_

Archer was tired, so tired. Why? Because it was over? It wasn't, not yet. He knew that Phlox was more determined than ever to find a way to save him. The doctor would tilt at windmills until he succeeded, or until Archer breathed his last. But despite the steel in Phlox's voice, Archer had seen the slump of his shoulders, even through his EV suit. The radiation treatment that had failed Trip had been the Denobulan's last desperate hope. He was out of ideas. Barring a miracle, Archer was a dead man.

Still, he had a sense that he'd just been through a battle, the most significant battle of his life. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had fought well, though the evidence before him clearly belied that. How long had he been staring at Trip's body? At the sheet draped over Hoshi? He'd lost track of time. All he knew was that his eyes burned and his throat hurt from the tears he'd been trying fruitlessly to keep at bay.

For the first time since he had pulled off his gloves, Archer let himself think beyond the confines of this claustrophobic room and the three souls within, two of them already lost.

Phlox would take Porthos; Archer and the doctor had a standing agreement about that. The rest of Archer's affairs were in order, as always. He had looked death in the eye too many times not to be prepared. Now, though, he was leaving so much more behind. Karyn, who had embraced him as family...Danica, with whom he had so recently reconnected...

...And Kyle. They had gotten to know each other over the past few months, through scores of letters—family stories, goofy work anecdotes, thoughtful musings about literature, philosophy, music. And then there was the ongoing exchange of playfully salacious suggestions on how they would spend their time together after he returned. The list had gotten pretty long, and quite inventive. He felt as though he'd fallen in love with her all over again. There was so much he wanted to say to her, so much he hadn't yet said. He had planned to tell her in person when he got back, so he had put it off... He'd put too many things off.

A flicker of movement across the room caught his eye. It was the bioreading panel over Trip's exam table. The gauges were inching upward.

Archer frowned. He didn't recall Phlox mentioning hallucinations as one of the symptoms of the virus.

He looked from the readings to the body. Trip appeared to be breathing. His chest was rising and falling, slowly and evenly.

Archer squeezed his wet eyes shut and rubbed them. It all looked so real...but it must be the virus addling his mind, playing tricks on him. He had watched Trip _die_. He had felt his friend's heart stop beating.

What he wanted most...a miracle...it couldn't be happening.

Could it?

Hesitantly, he approached the exam table to study the bioreadings more closely. They were getting stronger. Color seemed to be returning to those ghostly, sallow cheeks.

Archer touched Trip's face. The skin was warming. Archer slid his fingers down to Trip's neck, and felt a steady carotid pulse there. "Trip?" he whispered, daring to hope again.

The sunken eyes snapped open. Archer jumped back, startled, his breath catching in his throat.

Trip blinked, looking vaguely confused. "I thought..." He chewed his lip. "I guess not."

Archer stared at him, completely dumbstruck. Trip looked fine. He looked _great_.

Trip propped himself up on his elbows, still appearing a little disoriented. His eyes wandered the room, finally settling on Archer. "Cap'n? What happened?"

Archer swallowed. His throat was bone dry. "I have no idea."

Behind him, he heard another bioreading panel blipping softly to life. He turned to see movement under Hoshi's sheet. _Good God!_ He covered the distance in two steps, tearing the sheet away. Hoshi was alive again too. It was astonishing, wonderful, impossible to believe. She peered up at him, squinting against the bright lights. Her face was no longer deathly pale, but flushing with color and life.

"Hoshi!" Archer gathered her up and hugged her, almost overcome with joy.

After a moment, he felt her hands on his arms, hesitantly returning his embrace. "Captain?"

Realizing what a scene he must be making, he released her and stepped back, but he couldn't wipe the broad smile off his face. "How do you feel?"

In her typically observant fashion, Hoshi took in her surroundings, his EV suit, her unbuttoned clothing, and the defibrillation leads attached to her chest. "I'm not sure," she said slowly. "I remember breaking out of Decon...I guess I missed a lot after that."

"Let's just say you look a damn sight better than you did a little while ago. Both of you." If neither one of them ever remembered the last few harrowing minutes they'd spent here, that would be fine with Archer.

Trip sat up. "Anything to eat around here? I'm starving."

Archer burst out laughing, and realized how close he'd come to weeping again, this time with sheer gladness. _This is really happening_, he thought jubilantly. _Believe_.

* * *

_1752 hours  
__Bridge_

T'Pol blinked once, twice—and then, with a great gasp of air, she was awake and talking, her words trapped behind the respirator mask Phlox held over her mouth.

He took the device away. "—Alive," she was saying. "He's alive."

Gently, Phlox took her shoulders. "I'm sorry, T'Pol, but I don't—"

She fought her way to a sitting position. "We must go to sickbay."

"That's not possible." Phlox was concerned. Was she delusional? Had she suffered neural trauma when her bond with Tucker was so suddenly severed? "T'Pol, you've suffered a severe shock..."

"Archer to the bridge," came the captain's voice over the comm.

T'Pol was up and answering the call before Phlox could stop her. "T'Pol. Go ahead."

"You'd better get down here."

"Trip is alive," she said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Archer confirmed. "So is Hoshi."

Phlox listened in astonishment. He _knew_ Hoshi was dead. He had seen the readouts with his own eyes. It was incontrovertible fact. He rose, joining T'Pol at the comm panel. "Captain, Hoshi is—"

"You too, Phlox," Archer said. "Maybe one of you can tell me what the hell just happened."

Phlox and T'Pol bolted for the turbolift.

* * *

_Hour Six_

_1814 hours  
__Sickbay_

Despite Reed's assurances that the quarantine zone was clear, Phlox would not allow sickbay's doors to be unsealed until Archer scanned all three patients for the virus. Four times.

"C'mon, Doc!" Trip paced back and forth in front of the double doors. He could see T'Pol through the glass, waiting patiently, her eyes never leaving his. He could _feel_ her, achingly close. "How long are you gonna keep lollygagging?"

"Until I am satisfied, Commander," Phlox's unruffled voice intoned through the open comm link, as he dug his scanner out of his medkit. "I must say, Captain, he certainly _sounds_ healthy enough."

Archer punched in the results of the latest scan. "He is. Results are negative on all three of us—again. I think Hoshi's a little dehydrated." He brought a glass of water to the comm officer, who was still looking a little peaked. She had washed her face and brushed her hair earlier, and it had almost exhausted her. "How are you doing, Hoshi?"

She took a sip. "A little light-headed...I don't know." She looked uncertainly up at him. "Are you supposed to feel a certain way after you've died and come back to life?"

He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "I don't think there's a rulebook for what you've been through."

Trip caught sight of Phlox doing an unobtrusive scan of T'Pol. "What're you doing?" he asked worriedly. "What's wrong with her?"

"Calm yourself, Commander," Phlox replied, putting his scanner away. "She seems fine now. Captain, you may unseal the doors."

"She seems fine _now?_" Trip echoed. "What do you mean, _'now'?"_

Archer released the lock, and the doors slid open. Phlox bustled inside, heading in Hoshi's direction. "All right, Lieutenant, let's have a look at you..."

Trip turned anxiously to T'Pol as she entered sickbay. Wordlessly, she moved into his arms, silencing whatever further protest he might have been preparing to make. They simply held each other for a long moment, both savoring the physical contact.

Archer raised his eyebrows questioningly at Phlox. "We had a bit of trouble on the bridge," the doctor murmured, as he prepared a hypospray for Hoshi.

Trip finally pulled away from T'Pol, but he didn't release her, keeping one of her hands firmly clasped in his. "You don't mind if I hang onto you for a while, do you?" he said. "I kinda missed this."

"I don't mind," she replied contentedly.

He hesitated, trying to keep the concern off his face, and doing a miserable job of it. "What happened up there?"

She dropped her eyes, studying their joined hands. "I don't fully remember. I recall being with you...the beach, the sunset..."

She looked up at Trip, and he nodded. He remembered the beach, too.

"Then...there was blackness..." She frowned faintly. "And I awoke, with the doctor administering first aid." She turned to Phlox. "How long?"

_An eternity_, Archer guessed, judging from the haunted look he glimpsed in the Denobulan's eyes.

"Several minutes," Phlox replied, in his imperturbable doctor-voice. "You went into shock, and then you stopped breathing."

Tucker's hold on T'Pol tightened. She kept her focus on Phlox. "You revived me?"

The doctor shook his head. "You did it on your own. My guess is that your recovery was connected to Commander Tucker's. This bond of yours...it may have nearly killed you, but it also appears to have brought you back."

Trip and T'Pol gazed at each other in wonder. "I'll be damned," Trip said softly. "Do you think the bond might not have broken completely?"

"I don't know." She paused. "Do you remember...dying?"

He touched her cheek lightly with his fingers. "All I remember is you, darlin'. Then I was waking up, and I could still feel you with me."

Slowly, she nodded. "It is reassuring...if less than illuminating."

He laughed and hugged her again. "It'll have to do, hon. I don't plan on goin' through that again for another seventy years or so, if I can help it."

Phlox turned to Archer with a bemused smile. "I've looked at all the scan results, Captain, and conducted another one myself, but I'm at a loss. Commander Tucker's recovery has to have been a delayed reaction to the radiation treatment, but how it spilled over to you and Hoshi, I have no idea."

"A miracle?" Archer suggested.

Phlox threw up his hands. "That is as credible an explanation as any I can offer."

"It would certainly turn some heads at Starfleet Medical," Archer grinned. "But until they figure it out, I think the best way to fight this virus is to avoid it. We'll leave a warning beacon in orbit here to make sure that what happened to us never happens to anyone again."

xx-xx-xx

_Security annex  
__E-Deck_

Ayelborne turned from the sickbay monitor to Claymare. "Well? What do you think?"

"About all that emotion?" Claymare shuddered faintly as the two exited the room. "I am decidedly unsettled."

Ayelborne smiled as he led the way down the corridor. "I found it quite gratifying."

"I'll have you write the field report, then," Claymare said dryly. "Though I doubt anyone will be able to make sense of it."

"I'll need to make certain that it does," Ayelborne replied. "I'm going to recommend that we start preparations for an official First Contact mission."

"Indeed?" After a moment, Claymare nodded. "I concur."

Ayelborne was surprised. "What changed your mind?"

"The evidence, of course," Claymare said stoutly. Then he conceded, "And your fresh perspective as well. You compelled me to study the situation in ways I hadn't considered. It proved enlightening."

Ayelborne inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I'm glad I was able to contribute."

"In fact..." Claymare proceeded in thoughtful silence for a moment. "Considering your unique insight into these humans, it may be prudent for you to oversee the preparations for this First Contact. If you believe you're ready to undertake such an assignment."

Ayelborne brightened. "I look forward to it."

"I thought you might," the elder remarked knowingly.

Already, Ayelborne's mind was filled with possibilities. "We may wish to consider manifesting corporeally for them, to give them a recognizable lifeform with which to interact; we must take care not to overwhelm them. And we may need to provide physical landmarks as well, to give them a frame of reference..."

"Aren't you getting ahead of yourself?" Claymare asked. "We should have several thousand years to prepare."

"Far less, I think," Ayelborne mused. "The influence of other species such as the Vulcans and Denobulans is liable to have a stimulating effect on the humans' progress."

"You have a point." Claymare clasped his hands behind his back as they continued. "Very well, then. There's research to be done."

"We'd better get started," Ayelborne agreed. He turned speculatively to his partner. "May I suggest we visit the mess hall before we leave? There is another of those presentations scheduled, similar to the one we saw when we arrived... What did they call it?"

"A 'movie'."

"Yes! A movie. I found the first one quite interesting."

Claymare raised an eyebrow, and Ayelborne shrugged. "It would be research."

The senior Observer shook his head as they detoured toward the mess hall. "These humans have not been a good influence on you, Ayelborne..."

-tbc-


	11. Epiphany

**Redivivus  
**by HopefulR

Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: _Star Trek: Enterprise_ is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

A/N: Thanks as always to my betas slj91 and boushh.

* * *

**Chapter 11: **_Epiphany_

_September 23, 2154  
1741 hours_

_Captain's Ready Room  
NX-02 Columbia  
en route to Earth_

_Captain's Starlog, September 23rd, 2154. Thanks to the use of several Xindi subspace vortexes, the coordinates of which were provided by Councillor Mallora, Columbia was able to traverse the former Expanse in days instead of weeks. We are now approaching the Sol system, and the crew is visibly eager to return home after our lengthy, but very productive, maiden voyage._

Hernandez took another sip of tea as she looked over the latest neat pile of padds that Commander Lorian had left for her to review. _The bane of the XO's job is the paddwork,_ she recalled with a wry smile. Lorian had pulled another all-nighter in engineering to monitor the stability of the intermix; those last two vortex jumps had been a little rocky. Now he was on the bridge, getting updates from each department as they attended to the myriad details involved in preparing for _Columbia's_ return to port. He had certainly proven the old adage that Vulcans could dispense with sleep for long stretches if—

Her comm beeped. "Captain," came Yarrow's voice, "we need you on the bridge right now."

There was an uncommon urgency to the comm officer's voice. Moreover, it wasn't Lorian calling, though he had the conn. Both were warning bells to Hernandez. She bolted out of the ready room and onto the bridge, looking at once to the center seat.

Lorian was on his knees in front of the command chair, as if he had collapsed. He appeared almost catatonic: stock-still, eyes open and unseeing.

Exhaustion? Hardly likely, for a Vulcan. Then Hernandez saw the anguish in Lorian's expression. Whatever was happening, it probably had something to do with his empathic sense.

Several crewmen hovered near the commander, their faces filled with concern. Lorian was well-liked, and famous for his trademark calm; it was natural that personnel would be upset to see him like this. But it wouldn't do for one of them to help him up. Lorian's empathic ability was not yet public knowledge, and the crew wasn't aware that being touched had become something of a burden to him. Quickly, Hernandez stepped forward. "Give him room."

As the crewmen backed away, Hernandez knelt beside Lorian, being careful not to touch him. The last thing he needed now was another dose of emotion. "Commander? It's Captain Hernandez. Can you understand me?"

Lorian seemed desperately focused on something far away. He was breathing hard, clearly fighting for control. At last he spoke, his voice agonized. "I—I can't..."

Yarrow approached Hernandez. "Dr. Motumbo is on his way."

The captain nodded, keeping a lid on her concern. Lorian's control over his ability had improved slowly but steadily over the last two months; she hadn't expected to see a setback like this. What horror had he sensed that could cause such a reaction?

She knew better than to try to shake him out of it. It was cruelly bad timing that his wife wasn't on duty right now. "Call Lieutenant Archer up here, too."

Yarrow nodded and started toward her console—only to stop as the turbolift opened to reveal Karyn Archer. The helm officer was barefoot, wearing damp sweats, her hair wringing wet. She must have been in the shower. Amazing, that bond of theirs.

She went straight to Lorian, dropping to her knees in front of him. Gently, she touched his arm. He flinched back with a tortured gasp. She spoke quietly to him, her voice tight with worry. "I saw such darkness..."

He managed to speak again, hardly more than a whisper. "Father is dead. Mother is dying." As his eyes focused on Karyn, he looked afraid. "It's happening again, but this time I'm not there to save her."

Karyn took his hand, her face filling with shock and sorrow. Behind her, the bridge personnel exchanged glances of worry and confusion.

With a start, Hernandez understood. She had read _E²'s_ logs after Jon recommended Lorian as chief engineer; she was aware of the sudden death of Lorian's birth father, and that the trauma had almost killed the other T'Pol. According to _E²'s_ Captain Archer, Lorian's presence, and his connection with his mother, had somehow brought her back from the brink.

_My God, Tucker is dead? What the hell has happened on Enterprise?_

Karyn was talking to Lorian again. "Is she able to sense you? Can you reach her?"

He shut his eyes, shaking his head. "Don't know..."

Karyn tightened her hold on him, pressing her temple to his. "Do whatever you can to grab hold and hang on. Just hang on..."

Hernandez didn't know what magic Karyn was working on Lorian, but the effect was immediate. His tense body relaxed and his breathing calmed. They were almost like two statues, so focused were they on the tragedy unfolding before Lorian's inner gaze.

Beyond the circle of crewmen, Hernandez saw Dr. Motumbo step off the turbolift and take in the situation with a single glance. He was the only other person on board who was fully informed about Lorian. He moved to Hernandez's side. "An empathic episode?" he murmured softly, for her ears only.

She nodded. "His father's dead."

Motumbo shut his eyes briefly in sorrow. "He must feel the loss as strongly as his mother," the doctor said somberly. He nodded toward Karyn. "His wife can do more for him than I at the moment."

Tensely, they all watched and waited. A minute passed...two.

With a sharp intake of breath, Lorian frowned—and his eyes snapped open. He and Karyn stared at each other in amazement. "He's alive!" they said together.

Hernandez was lost. "What happened?"

Lorian didn't answer immediately; he bowed his head, working to regain his composure. Still holding him, Karyn turned to Hernandez. "They're both all right," she said. "I don't understand it, but...Commander Tucker was dead. Lorian felt it. But now, somehow, he's alive again."

Hernandez exhaled with relief. She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath. "Thank God."

With the crisis apparently over, the crew started to buzz. "_Enterprise_ must be twenty light years away"..."How could he know what was happening there?"..."Must be a Vulcan thing..."

Then Ensign Shaughnessy, the relief helmsman, spoke up, loudly enough for all to hear. "Did he call Commander Tucker his father?"

Lorian and Karyn glanced apologetically at Hernandez, who just smiled. She couldn't care less that another Starfleet trade secret was falling by the wayside.

"I'll leave the explaining to you, Captain," Motumbo said. "Right now I'd like to see Commander Lorian in sickbay."

"That is unnecessary," Lorian protested, not very convincingly. "I'm fine now."

"Let's make sure of that," Karyn said. She helped him to his feet and led him to the lift with Motumbo.

After they left, Hernandez turned to Yarrow. "Contact _Enterprise_. Ask them if all is well."

"Aye, ma'am." The comm officer returned to her station.

Meanwhile, the rest of the bridge crew was waiting expectantly for the captain's explanation. Hernandez silently thanked Mallora for blowing the lid off that "Highly Classified" _E²_ nonsense for her. "About the Tucker business," she began. "It started in the Expanse..."

* * *

_September 24, 2154_

_Callahan's Jazz Club  
San Francisco, Earth_

Kyle was at the bar, finishing up the weekly inventory of the stock, when Callahan emerged from the alcove that led upstairs to his office. "Yo, Kyle! There's a call for you."

Kyle glanced curiously at the bar terminal. "Nothing came in down here."

"That's 'cause the thing was loaded with security protocols," Callahan said. "The only comm terminal set up to accept those is up in the office."

Security...? "Oh my God, he's calling me?" Kyle raced for the alcove, as Callahan watched with a grin.

As she charged up the stairs, Kyle wondered what would prompt a call from Jon. They had communicated through letters since _Enterprise_ left in July. Was it good news? Or wait—bad news? What if something terrible had happened? Anxious now, she sat down at Callahan's comm terminal and opened the channel.

Jon appeared on the screen. He looked all right...handsome as always in uniform, relaxed, maybe a little tired. There was something different, though...almost a glow about him, as if he'd been reborn somehow...transformed by a wondrous epiphany.

As soon as he saw her, he smiled. "Hi."

She beamed at him. "Hi yourself."

"How are you?"

"Fine." _Now that I know you're okay, I'm fine._ "I miss you to pieces, but Callahan's keeping me busy. How about you?"

He nodded. "I'm good. And I can't even put into words how much I've missed you."

She felt a thrill of happiness. "How soon will you be home?"

"A couple of weeks." Jon cocked his head at her. "You're wondering why I've called."

"Now that you mention it..."

"There's something I wanted to tell you." He smiled again, a smile that seemed to transcend the light-years of distance between them and touch her soul. "I'm in love with you, Kyle. Completely. I've never been so certain about anything."

Her heart began racing, and tears sprang to her eyes. "Jon..."

"I had this idea that I would say it in person, over a romantic candlelight dinner," he continued. "But now I don't want to wait another moment."

There were so many questions Kyle wanted to ask him. _Why now? What happened to you out there? What's different?_ But she couldn't talk around the lump in her throat.

Jon was rushing on, like a nervous teenager. "I haven't told you in my letters because I thought it would be presumptuous of me—after all, we've only been together face-to-face for a few hours..."

Finally, she found her voice. "I'm in love with you, too."

He smiled with equal parts happiness and relief. "I thought I was crazy. This has all happened so quickly..."

"I guess it's like that when you finally find the right person." Kyle didn't know whether she was laughing or crying, or both. But it didn't matter. She was over the moon. "So? What are we waiting for?"

He laughed. "You're a bold lass! All right then, will you marry me?"

"Hell yes!" she declared joyfully.

"Good!" He sat back, still chuckling. "This is going to be a long two weeks."

"Volunteer for overtime. It helps."

He looked amused. "You're an authority on this, I take it?"

"Are you kidding? I am the _queen_ of overtime."

Jon's smile was gentle now, full of affection. "I'll see you soon."

"I'll be counting the days," she replied. "Be safe."

"I will." He gazed at her for a moment longer, then ended the transmission.

Kyle sighed wistfully at the dark screen. _This is gonna be the longest two weeks of my __life__._

* * *

_September 24, 2154_

_First Officer/Chief Engineer's quarters  
NX-01 Enterprise  
en route to Earth_

T'Pol and Trip sat together at her desk, raptly watching the monitor viewscreen. On the other end of the call were Lorian and Karyn, in their quarters on _Columbia_. Lorian was searching for words to describe what must have been indescribable. "I remember a black void...a nothingness. You were there, Mother...the emotions were so intense, it was almost as if I was there with you."

"You could see it?" Trip asked. "That thing you told us about, where the emotions manifest visually?"

Lorian nodded. "I felt Mother's despair...the agony of your broken bond."

Trip frowned thoughtfully. "I'd just about convinced myself that the bond hadn't been severed, and somehow that was how I came back."

"The pain of a severed bond is unmistakable," Lorian replied quietly. "I recognized it...from years ago."

Trip and T'Pol both knew he was speaking of the other Trip's death, and his birth mother's descent into a hellish grief from which she almost didn't emerge.

Lorian's somber face lightened. "Then Mother found you, Father. I could see her gathering you up and nurturing you with her spirit, then bearing you back from the darkness, to the realm of light and life. I felt joy instead of grief."

Trip turned to T'Pol with a smile. "How about that. You saved me."

T'Pol shook her head in wonder. "It is a remarkable account. I wish I could remember..."

"None of this is coming back to you?" Karyn asked.

"Nothing, after Trip's death." T'Pol still found it surprisingly difficult to speak the word, even with Trip safe at her side, alive and well. "Dr. Phlox has theorized that oxygen deprivation may account for my memory loss."

"It's a blank to me, too," Trip said. "Although I have a better reason for not remembering, being dead an' all."

Lorian looked faintly resigned. "Then you can shed no light on the others who were there."

"Others?" T'Pol echoed curiously.

"When?" Trip added. "Where?"

"In the void," Lorian replied. "Two distinct presences, quite powerful, at the edge of Mother's consciousness. I became aware of them shortly before I felt your presence, Father."

"Intriguing," T'Pol said. "Could you determine their intent, if not their identity?"

Lorian pondered the question. "I sensed no malevolence from them...more of an expectation. From one in particular, I felt hope, compassion...even exhilaration, as my vision of the void faded."

Trip shrugged. "Ghosts, maybe? Trapped there between life and death, like T'Pol was?"

"They might have been Spirits of the Skies," Karyn suggested. "Ikaarans believe they guide us to our next life, or watch over us in this one."

"Like guardian angels." Trip smiled. "Whoever they were, it's comforting to think we weren't alone." He took T'Pol's hand. "Maybe they brought me back from death, so you could bring me back to life."

"Supernatural guides?" T'Pol eyed him with an arched eyebrow of classically Vulcan skepticism. "It is a decidedly unscientific hypothesis."

"The experience is open to interpretation," Lorian offered. "I was, after all, perceiving it through a filter of emotion."

Trip sat back in his chair. "In the absence of empirical evidence to the contrary, guardian angels work for me," he said with satisfaction.

-tbc-


	12. Home Again

**Redivivus  
**by HopefulRomantic

Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: _Star Trek: Enterprise_ is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

A/N: Thanks again to the invaluable Vulcan Language Dictionary for the lingo, and to my betas boushh and Stephanie.

"Too Late Now" lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner. All lyrics are the property and copyright of their respective rights holders. No infringement is intended, nor is any profit sought from their inclusion herein.

Closing Author's Notes at the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 12: _Home Again_

_October 11, 2154_

_Callahan's Jazz Club  
__San Francisco, Earth_

It was Friday night, and the joint was packed to the rafters. Kyle had been working her tail off at the bar, which was just fine with her. _Enterprise_ had returned, and she preferred to be busy rather than keep wondering when she would see Jon. He probably had a hell of a lot of business to attend to, after being gone for three months.

Of course, the guys were teasing her mercilessly. Every time she turned around, there was Enrique or Sammy or Don. "Did he call yet? The ship is back, y'know. Have you heard from him?" Even Patch, the drummer, who never said much at all, circled past the bar a couple of times. "He hasn't called yet? But the ship is back..."

When Callahan turned up at barside a couple of hours into her shift, Kyle put up a hand in warning. "If you ask me whether he's called yet, I'll dump a drink on your head, Boss. I swear."

"Not gonna ask," Callahan said.

"Thank you."

He took her bar towel from her hand. "Seein' as how I know why he hasn't called."

"Well?" she prompted. "Tell me!"

Callahan smiled. "Ask him yourself."

She bounded out from behind the bar, heading toward the back, assuming Jon would have slipped in unnoticed, staying out of the public eye—

Callahan snagged her by the arm. "Wrong way, hon." He turned her to face the main entrance.

Jon was striding into the room, trailed by a few reporter-types with headset-cams. He was wearing civilian clothes, a forest-green turtleneck and slacks, but with his height and bearing, he was still an impressive sight. Heads turned his way from every corner of the room, and a knot of admirers quickly gathered around him.

Kyle felt a rush of joy at the sight of him—but she wasn't sure what to do. Jump into his arms? Play it cool? She was thrown for a loop, seeing him in the smack middle of the club, surrounded by people. Then his eyes met hers and he smiled at her, and she practically melted.

He worked his way across the room to her. "Hello there," he said pleasantly.

"Nice to see you again, Captain," she replied smoothly, following his lead.

He leaned closer. "Have you ever imagined living life in a fishbowl? Having your every move documented, photographers taking your picture every time you turn around, reporters asking all sorts of personal questions?" His green eyes twinkled. "All because of who you're dating?"

Here it was, the big moment where she and Jon went public, and her life changed forever. She could practically feel all the eyes in the room trained on them, not to mention the reporters' cameras. "It must be quite a challenge," she remarked.

Jon raised his eyebrows expectantly. "So are you game?"

She smiled. "Try me."

He took her hand and pulled her into a warm embrace. She heard whispers of reaction from the onlookers, but Jon didn't seem to notice. "It feels good to hold you again," he said.

She sighed happily. "I'm so glad you're home."

He pulled back, glancing toward the stage, where the guys in the band were getting ready to begin another set. "How are you on the dance floor?"

Kyle shrugged. "I know enough to keep from falling on my face."

He bowed over her hand. "Shall we, then?"

She looked hopefully at Callahan. The big man shooed her away, grinning from ear to ear.

Jon led Kyle to the parquet dance floor. It was a surreal experience for her, watching the crowd part like the Red Sea to make way for the two of them. She knew a lot of these people, had been serving them drinks for years, but they were looking at her in a whole new way. Even the boys in the band were trading goofy grins. She'd never been the center of such attention in her life.

Jon nodded to Don, the bandleader. "Maestro."

"What's your pleasure, Captain?" Don asked.

"Something romantic."

"You got it."

A moment later, the band launched into a slow-tempo rendition of "Too Late Now," with Gene carrying the melody on his sax. Jon took Kyle in his arms and began leading her through a simple, elegant slow dance. She wasn't any great shakes as a dancer, but it was so easy to dance with Jon. His lead was understated but steady, making her feel secure and even graceful in his arms.

_Too late now to forget your smile,  
__The way we cling when we dance awhile.  
__Too late now to forget and go on to someone new..._

He held her closer. "I thought I was never going to make it home to you."

_Too late now to forget your voice,  
__The way one word makes my heart rejoice.  
__Too late now to imagine myself away from you..._

There was something about the way he said it, a catch in his voice, that made Kyle pull back and search his face. Suddenly she was afraid to let go of him. "What happened out there?"

"There was a virus," Jon said quietly. "Highly contagious, fast acting, deadly. Trip and my comm officer were infected."

"Oh my God..." Kyle knew that Trip Tucker was Jon's closest friend.

"Dr. Phlox kept them in isolation while he tried to find a cure," Jon went on. "The whole ship was at risk. Then I was exposed."

She drew in an involuntary gasp.

"I did it deliberately, Kyle," he said steadily, as he held her eyes. "I had a choice between protecting myself from the virus, and safeguarding my crew."

It took her a long moment to absorb the wallop of stark reality he was giving her.

Jon looked away. "I watched Trip and Hoshi die...or so I thought. By some miracle that Phlox still can't completely explain, they recovered, and so did I."

Kyle exhaled with relief. "So you're fine now? All of you?"

"Yes." He paused. "It wasn't until it was over that I had a chance to think... There's a clarity that comes with looking death in the eye like that."

She didn't say anything now, just kept her focus wholly on him, letting the rest of the room fade away. Somehow, she knew this was the most important thing she would ever hear.

He regarded her solemnly. "Kyle, as long as I command a ship, I will have a responsibility to the welfare of my crew. As long as I am an explorer, I will face unknown risks. I understand more than ever why tradition has ship captains pledging heart and soul to their careers." He came to a stop, taking her hands. "But I also know how I felt when I thought I would never see you again. I knew how very much I loved you."

She gripped his hands tightly as tears welled in her eyes. Jon reached up and caressed her cheek, his expression warming with affection. "I've believed for so long that I was going to be alone all my life, but everything has changed because of you." He paused again. "I know it won't be easy...I'll be gone a great deal. There will be a lot about my job that I won't talk about, that I can never talk about. The press will be a pain..."

"Jon, my eyes are wide open," Kyle said with calm certainty. "I understand the depth of your commitment to your work. It's part of why I fell in love with you." She smiled serenely. "I've waited my whole life for you. So I'll put up with your job, and your secrets, and your celebrity. I'll take all of it, as long as I have you."

He broke into the most glorious smile she'd ever seen. "You wouldn't believe how much I want to kiss you right now."

"What's stopping you?" she asked invitingly.

Jon nodded toward the knot of reporters at the other end of the dance floor, talking softly into their mics as they kept their cameras trained on the captain and his new lady friend. "The fourth estate."

"And how thoughtful of you to bring them along."

"I can't wait to ditch them so we can greet each other properly." He gave her a twirl, then pulled her close as they started dancing once more. Softly, for her alone, he began singing to the music, in a clear, pure tenor.

_How could I ever close the door  
__And be the same as I was before?  
__Darling, no, no, I can't anymore.  
__It's too late now._

As the song ended, Kyle felt an almost tangible connection between them, like an electric charge. Jon drew so close to her that she thought he was going to kiss her anyway, and to hell with the reporters. At the last moment though, he held back, his lips a hair's-breadth from hers. "About that dinner I promised you..."

"I'm not hungry for food," she whispered.

His eyes smoldered with desire. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

_Office of the Ambassador to Earth  
__Vulcan Embassy_

When Trip and T'Pol were ushered into Soval's office, they found the venerable ambassador at his desk, sifting through several padds. Beside him, making notations, was T'Shara, the archaeo-linguist and recent addition to the diplomatic staff.

The _Enterprise_ officers raised their hands in the _ta'al_. "Sochya eh dif," Trip said in greeting. _Peace and long life_.

Soval and T'Shara both rose, returning the _ta'al_. "It is agreeable to see you," Soval replied. To Trip, he added, "Your accent is improving, Commander."

"I have a good teacher," Trip said, with a smile to T'Pol. He indicated the paddwork spread across the ambassador's desk. "I hope we're not intruding."

"Not at all," T'Shara replied, in that melodic alto that Trip remembered.

"We are preparing a collection of cultural information relevant to Earth and Starfleet," Soval explained. "It will be distributed to the Vulcan members of the proposed officer exchange program."

T'Pol nodded in acknowledgment. "_Enterprise_ received word as we entered the system that the Earth/Vulcan Alliance has been formalized."

"Finally," Trip added under his breath.

"Diplomacy is not a thing to be rushed," Soval remarked mildly. "The negotiations were a delicate matter, involving many dynamic personalities." He indicated T'Shara. "I suspect the process would have taken far longer, if not for the Lady T'Shara's facility for fostering communication between the Vulcan and human representatives. She is quite perceptive."

"I observe," T'Shara said modestly.

The appellation used by Soval did not escape T'Pol's notice. "Lady T'Shara?" she said to the novice diplomat. "You have recently wed, then?"

"I have," T'Shara confirmed.

"There must be something in the air," Trip remarked. "Congratulations, ma'am. Who's the lucky bondmate?"

T'Shara turned smoothly to Soval. "The ambassador."

T'Pol was caught so completely off guard that she looked visibly surprised, while Trip's jaw dropped. "Why didn't you tell us you were getting married?" he exclaimed.

Soval looked faintly puzzled. "We saw no need for a public announcement."

"I'm not talkin' about the public—I mean _us_," Trip said emphatically. "You didn't say anything before _Enterprise_ shipped out."

"At that point, no plans had been made," T'Shara explained. "The ambassador required time to consider the prospect."

Trip was tickled. "She proposed to you?" he asked Soval.

The ambassador arched an eyebrow at his wife. "As I recall, it was a mutual agreement."

Trip and T'Pol watched the back-and-forth with amusement. "How long did it take for him to decide?" T'Pol inquired.

"Thirty-four years," T'Shara replied matter-of-factly.

"I wished to be certain that it was the most logical course," Soval with dignity, and a touch of exasperation.

Trip cleared his throat to keep from laughing. He was loving this. It certainly looked as though Ambassador Cranky had finally met his match. "Uh...so anyway, did you have any luck locating a priest?"

Soval seemed grateful for the change of subject. "There was no luck involved, Commander," he replied. "Two months ago, such a priest arrived here from Vulcan. V'Utan is well-versed in the ancient ways of Surak's time, including marriage bonding and mind-melds. With the old rituals coming into favor again, I requested that he come here to fill a need for his knowledge and abilities."

"You mean our wedding?" Trip beamed at him.

"No, _our_ wedding," Soval corrected him. "But he is not averse to a marriage between a Vulcan and a human."

"I have arranged for you to meet with V'Utan tomorrow morning," T'Shara added.

Both officers nodded their thanks. "Your assistance is most welcome," T'Pol said.

* * *

_The Baytowers Apartment Complex  
__North Tower, 39th Floor_

As Jon ushered Kyle into his apartment, Porthos bounded up in enthusiastic greeting. Jon petted him affectionately while Kyle surveyed the spacious surroundings, decorated in warm golds and browns. "Sweet," she said admiringly. "And the place comes complete with its own welcoming committee."

Porthos turned to Kyle, eager to lavish the same attention on his master's guest. As she gave the little beagle a good scratch, Jon smiled. "He sure remembers you."

Kyle spoke to Porthos directly. "I hope you still like me after I introduce you to my cats." She gave him a final pat and rose, crossing to the big picture window, which had a spectacular nighttime view of San Francisco Bay far below. "This is _incredible_."

"I was hoping you would like it here." Jon came up behind her, slipping his arms around her. "It's your home too now. That is, if you think there's enough room for both of us."

"Are you serious? This place is huge." She leaned back against him. "This is really happening, isn't it?"

"Yes." He kissed her hair. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

Suddenly Porthos was between them, scrabbling up Jon's leg as far as he could reach. He barked eagerly, wagging his tail.

Kyle laughed. "Porthos wants a hug, too."

"Let him get his own girl." Jon turned her head to kiss her, long and deep.

Kyle reached up to caress his cheek, humming contentedly as she returned his kiss. "Why aren't we in the bedroom?" she murmured against his mouth.

"I have no idea." He swept her up in his arms and carried her there, kissing her the whole way.

xx-xx-xx

Jon fell back against the pillows as he and Kyle caught their breath following another round of lovemaking. "Okay, you've convinced me," he said. "We're compatible."

She nestled against him. "I'm glad that's settled."

Idly, he caressed her. "Have you ever given any thought to going back and getting your doctorate? Starfleet's warming to the idea of putting counselors on starships."

She nodded. "I've even done some research into it, and visited a couple of campuses." She smiled. "But after you called two weeks ago, I realized I might be a little too busy for school, or counseling. At least for a while."

"Busy? Doing what?"

She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "Raising our kids."

He was surprised by how much joy her words gave him. "We haven't even talked about children."

"I've seen you with Karyn. Do we really need to talk about it?"

"I love you." He kissed her. "But you haven't told me what _you_ want."

She rested her chin placidly on his chest. "I'm thinking two or three, at least. Then they'd always have someone to play with, someone to look out for. I missed having a sister or brother as I was growing up."

Jon liked the idea of a houseful of children. "Okay, lots of kids."

Kyle climbed on top of him, settling herself on his lap. "Let's get to it, then."

He stroked the smooth swell of her backside, enjoying the feel of her as she moved against him. "What's the rush? Not that I need any urging to make love to you again."

"When I make up my mind about something, I don't mess around." Kyle leaned down and kissed him.

He buried his fingers in her hair, returning her kiss with enthusiasm. "Well, I'm old-fashioned. How about we get married first?"

"Fine by me," she said brightly. "Tomorrow?"

"Nope."

She pouted prettily. "Why not?"

He nuzzled her throat. "Because Trip and T'Pol are getting married in a day or two, as soon as his folks get here from Mississippi. I'd rather not take any attention away from that."

She sighed elaborately as he kissed his way down between her breasts. "Okay. But don't go changing your mind."

"Never." He rolled her underneath him and captured her mouth with his, giving her a slow, thorough kiss. "In fact, I'll give you a preview." He climbed out of bed to retrieve his slacks from the floor.

Kyle sat up, watching curiously as he fished out the small velvet pouch Karyn had delivered to him earlier in the day. He turned back to Kyle...stopping for a moment to admire the delectable sight of his fiancée in their bed, clad only in her long auburn hair. "God, you're gorgeous."

She smiled. "Thank you. You're not so bad yourself. Now get back in here."

He slid back into bed beside her, taking her hand. "This has been in my family for a long time." He upended the pouch, letting Esilia's wedding ring fall into Kyle's open palm.

She gazed speechlessly at it for a long moment. He smiled, enjoying her reaction. When she finally looked up at him, there were tears in her eyes. "Jon, it's beautiful."

He closed her hand over the ring. "So it's all right with you if we hold off for a bit?"

"I suppose I can wait a _little_ longer." She eyed him coyly. "If you'll tell me something."

He rolled his eyes. "Uh-oh. The demands begin."

She lay back against the pillows with a sultry smile. "Now that I'm here in bed with you, all naked and affianced, I figure I have some leeway."

"Conniving wench. All right, ask."

She propped herself up on one elbow. "Is Karyn your daughter?"

Jon had been expecting this question, but now that she had asked, he didn't quite know how to go about answering. Not without violating all sorts of security protocols, at any rate.

"She doesn't much look like you," Kyle went on. "But she's such an Archer—her skill, the way she carries herself. Except you've only known each other for a few months, so..." She trailed off, waiting.

"She might as well be," he said at last. "She is my flesh and blood...but no, not my daughter. I haven't told you more because her background was classified by Starfleet."

"Classified? Why in the world—" Kyle stopped herself, backing off with a rueful smile. "Sorry. We're getting into forbidden territory, aren't we?"

Jon could tell she was bursting with curiosity. He respected her for accepting his work without question...but it dawned on him that he could lower the barriers a little now. "Family is permitted to know some details. And as of seventeen days ago, you became family."

"I knew there would be perks to marrying you." Kyle snuggled against him. "Tell me a story, Jon."

He settled back and began. "Do you believe in time travel?..."

* * *

_October 12, 2154_

_High Security Incarceration Facility  
__Starfleet Headquarters  
__San Francisco, Earth_

Arik Soong nodded approvingly as he read through the medical data on Phlox's padd, with that uncanny speed of his. Finally he set it down beside him on the modest little desk inside his cell. "You've made remarkable progress these last few months, Doctor. At this rate, you should have your genetic hybridization technique perfected within a few months."

"That's quite a compliment, coming from you," Phlox said graciously. Of course, Soong was essentially complimenting himself.

"I mean every word," Soong said magnanimously. He tapped the padd. "This is the work of a genius."

Really, the man was shameless. But Phlox was quite content to put up with Soong's ego. The geneticist's clandestine assistance had shaved years off Phlox's research. "I assume your upbeat attitude is due to the return of your regular visitors."

Soong smiled. "After more than two dreary months, with no one but Starfleet security guards for company, I now have Lieutenant Archer and her singular husband regaling me with more stories about their experiences in the Expanse. Quite harrowing at times, what they went through."

Phlox noticed that Soong was finger-doodling on the padd, as he had done during their last visit—his way of conveying research information on the sly. "Yes," Phlox said in agreement. "All of the crewmembers I met impressed me with their dedication and positive outlook. Quite a feat, considering the enormous pressures they faced."

"Speaking of _Columbia's_ newlyweds..." Soong looked thoughtful. "You wouldn't happen to have any medical records for Lieutenant Archer, would you? Specifically, DNA information?"

Phlox was curious. "And if I did?"

Soong shrugged casually. "She has talked quite fondly about children. It seems a given that she and Commander Lorian will want a family of their own someday. It occurred to me that after all the work you've done with human and Vulcan genomes, it would be a simple thing for you to develop a method by which the lieutenant and her husband could have children."

Phlox rather liked the idea. There would be a DNA profile for Karyn Archer in _E²'s_ medical database. "It's certainly worth looking into."

His words seemed to energize Soong. "Since the subject interests me, I did a bit of preliminary research on my own. I would have jotted down my thoughts for you, but..." He raised his hands, indicating the metal restraints securely fastened to his wrists. "My jailers have an annoying habit of confiscating my work as soon as it's down on paper. Nevertheless, if you have the inclination to pursue the matter, I would enjoy bouncing ideas back and forth with you."

No doubt he wished he could take credit for it as well...but he seemed to understand that Phlox would have to appear to be spearheading such a project. "Thank you," Phlox said. "Tell me, what has prompted this latest bout of generosity?"

"I've grown quite fond of Lieutenant Archer," Soong replied airily. "Contributing in some small way to her future happiness would be my privilege." He handed the padd back to Phlox. "Consider it my belated wedding gift to two of Starfleet's finest."

A quick glance at the padd's settings told Phlox that Soong had deposited more hidden information during their conversation. "You've given me a lot to think about," the Denobulan said.

Soong smiled slyly. "It's amazing what you can accomplish with the right information at your fingertips."

Phlox couldn't help but be impressed by Soong's brazenness. "Yes, it is. I appreciate your encouragement." He motioned to the security guard outside the cell, indicating that he was ready to leave.

With a resigned sigh, Soong held his hands out, watching as the restraints locked together with a metallic _clack_. Then his air of blithe superiority returned. "Don't be a stranger, Doctor. There are so few geniuses such as ourselves who are able to keep each other's minds sufficiently engaged. It's a moral imperative that you visit, you know."

Despite his attempt at nonchalance, Phlox heard a subtle edge of pleading in Soong's voice. The man must feel quite lonely, with his children dead and his dreams shattered. He was fully responsible for his imprisonment, but Phlox had hopes that Soong's re-emerging humanity—his remorse, and his desire to make amends—would enable him to leave a positive legacy, once all was said and done.

He put a hand lightly on Soong's shoulder. "Rest easy, Doctor. I'll be back."

Soong's sans-souci façade fell away, and he gave Phlox a smile of genuine gratitude.

* * *

_October 13, 2154_

_Meditation Garden  
__Vulcan Embassy  
__San Francisco, Earth_

It was even more beautiful than the picture Lorian had painted for Trip so many months ago.

The meditation garden was an elegant arrangement of flagstone-paved footpaths, stone sculptures, and whisper-soft fountains, a serene oasis far removed from the noisy bustle of the outside world. The morning fog had burned away, leaving the late-autumn sun shining down on the wedding party, which had gathered at a meditation circle flanked by evergreen pines.

T'Pol, wearing her mother's wedding robes, was a vision in flowing burgundy silk. Trip's ceremonial robes, which T'Pol had selected from her father's things, were a rich sable with gold trim. Lorian and Karyn, dressed in robes of the same rust color as Vulcan's sands, stood to either side of the bride and groom, acting as best man and matron of honor.

In keeping with Vulcan tradition, Trip and T'Pol had gathered their family and closest friends to witness the ceremony: Chuck and Catherine, Captain Archer, Malcolm and Hoshi, Travis and Anna Hess, Phlox. Ambassador Soval represented the Vulcan High Council, while Admiral Gardner was there on behalf of Starfleet Command.

Trip and T'Pol knelt before V'Utan, the silver-haired Vulcan priest, his thin frame clad in brocade robes of muted blue. As the couple touched fingers in a ritual _ozh'esta_, the priest began to speak in a strong voice that belied his appearance. "Ra tu ak gla-tor tev-tor s'wak t'Palikaya."

Trip heard Hoshi's quiet voice as she translated for the others. "What ye are about to witness comes down from the time of the Beginning."

V'Utan paused. "Hi stariben rik'rubah nam-tor rik'ozhika."

"To perform it without change, however, would be illogical," Hoshi translated with mild surprise. The onlookers traded curious glances.

The priest smoothly switched to Terran Standard. "The man is human. The couple is bonded. Vulcan's Awakening has brought the ancient laws back into favor, and the validity of the ritual marriage bond is recognized once more. It would seem that even our contemporary wedding rites are obsolete."

Trip let his solemn demeanor slip, breaking into a little smile as he listened. He and T'Pol had worked out the particulars of the ceremony with V'Utan during their meeting yesterday, but the priest's artful preamble was new to them. Though T'Pol's expression remained placid, Trip could see her smile with his inner eye.

"Therefore," V'Utan continued, "let this ceremony be a confirmation that T'Pol and Charles have forged a bond in defiance of tradition, culture..." —he arched a wry eyebrow— "...and all logic. In their union, may we find meaning and beauty, as we do in the diversity of all things."

He turned to T'Pol. "T'Pol, ko-fu Sochya, ko-fu T'Les, afsak nash-veh nam-tor telsu kwon-sum na't'sosu Charles, khaf-spol eh katra?" _T'Pol, daughter of Sochya, daughter of T'Les, do thee declare that thee art bound irrevocably to the man Charles, heart and soul?_

"Afsak nash-veh," she said softly, holding Trip's gaze. _I do declare_.

V'Utan addressed Trip. "Charles, sa-fu Charles, sa-fu Catherine, afsak nash-veh nam-tor telsu kwon-sum na't'kosu T'Pol, khaf-spol eh katra?" _Charles, son of Charles, son of Catherine, do thee declare that thee art bound irrevocably to the woman T'Pol, heart and soul?_

Trip gazed happily at his bride. "Afsak nash-veh." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother brushing away a tear. Chuck fished out his handkerchief, and she took it with a smile.

The priest nodded to Lorian and Karyn, who presented him with matching gold wedding bands, each inscribed in ancient Vulcan script with the word "kwon-sum." _Always._

V'Utan placed the larger ring in T'Pol's hand. "Tan-tor na'telsu nash sehtebuhk t'terau." _Bestow upon your bondmate this symbol of your joining._

T'Pol gently slipped the gold band on Trip's finger. "Etek nam-tor veh, t'hai'la," she said. _We are one, beloved._

The priest gave the other ring to Trip. As he placed it on T'Pol's finger, he felt himself choking up with emotion. He hadn't thought this day could be as profoundly moving as the night he and T'Pol had performed their bonding meld, but this ceremony, in its own way, was equally powerful. As his eyes rose to meet T'Pol's, he felt her loving embrace through the bond. "Etek nam-tor veh, t'hai'la," he said.

V'Utan addressed the group. "Fupa t'sha'to-gavlar heh s'oyutlar t'Khasi eh Terra, aifa dahkuh i'nam-tor sa-telsu eh ko-telsu." _According to the laws and customs of Vulcan and Earth, these two are now husband and wife._

He nodded to Trip and T'Pol in benediction. "Sochya eh dif, T'Pol eh Charles." _Peace and long life, T'Pol and Charles._

Trip touched his fingers to T'Pol's in another _ozh'esta_. This had been planned as the last gesture of the ritual, but Trip couldn't resist—he took his wife in his arms and kissed her. Their audience broke into spontaneous applause before surging forward for hugs and handshakes all around.

V'Utan observed the celebration with bemusement. "They are a most demonstrative species," he remarked quietly to Soval.

"One acclimates to them, after a fashion," the ambassador replied sagely.

Archer gave Trip a bearhug, and took T'Pol's hand fondly in congratulations. "It's about time," he said happily.

"You took the words right outta my mouth," Trip grinned.

"Mine as well," T'Pol agreed, and Archer laughed.

Catherine was still dabbing at her eyes as she collected a hug from her son. "The four of you look like a picture together. Which reminds me—promise you won't get out of those pretty clothes until we take your picture."

"We promise, Mom," Trip assured her.

"Any honeymoon plans, Chief?" Hess asked.

Trip shrugged. "I'm finishing up the diagnostics and testing of all the systems we've been changing out since we got home."

"I have more modifications to make to the long-range sensors," T'Pol offered.

Hoshi shook her head. "I don't think you two are grasping the finer points of honeymooning."

"On the contrary," T'Pol said, "Commander Tucker explained the concept quite clearly to me some months ago."

Malcolm turned to Archer. "D'you hear that, Captain? These two are in serious need of some time off."

"Don't worry, Mal," Trip chuckled. "The captain's been letting us spend a lot of time together these last couple of weeks. You might say we did the wedding-and-honeymoon thing in reverse."

"Still," Archer said, "I think Malcolm has a point." He turned to Hess. "Lieutenant, you can handle things in engineering, I trust."

"No problem," she confirmed promptly. "We won't need the commander for days."

"So much for your vaunted indispensability, old man," Malcolm said to Trip with a wink.

Archer addressed his helm officer. "Travis, you'll be able to make some progress with those sensor specs, won't you?"

"Yes, sir," Travis responded with confidence. "Growing up on the _Horizon_ made me a jack-of-all-trades. I'll be able to manage without the commander for a while."

T'Pol looked from Travis to Archer. "As you wish."

"So take a few days off and just enjoy being married, okay?" Archer concluded good-naturedly.

Trip gave his wife a light _ozh'esta_. "Far be it for us to refuse an order from the captain."

"You can help us with our apartment-hunting," Karyn said brightly.

"You're moving?" Admiral Gardner asked. "But how could you _ever_ grow weary of our cookie-cutter décor and bland cafeteria cuisine?"

"We have availed ourselves of Starfleet's kind hospitality for long enough, Admiral," Lorian replied diplomatically.

"We were hoping to find a place near the Vulcan compound, since Lorian will still be training with the ambassador," Karyn said. "But trying to locate available housing in the city has been next to impossible."

"You might have better luck across the bay," Hess suggested.

"Starfleet has some private housing set aside near Starfleet for senior officers and their families," Gardner said. "Let me work something out."

"I appreciate your offer, Admiral," Lorian said, "but I don't think I deserve any special—"

"Believe me, Commander, you'll want to stay in the city," Gardner said firmly. "In a few months, you'll be spending an inordinate amount of time at Starfleet. That is, when you're not visiting the shipyards or Spacedock."

Lorian went very still. "Sir?"

Gardner smiled broadly. "It won't be announced until the first of the year, but the decision's been made. _Intrepid_ is yours, Commander. She'll launch next September."

Lorian was too overcome to speak at first. He accepted Karyn's ecstatic hug and the congratulations of the rest of his friends and family before finally finding his voice. "Thank you, Admiral, for your confidence."

"You've earned it, Lorian." Gardner's smile grew wry. "In fact, I believe Captain Hernandez will be holding it against me for quite a while that I'm stealing you away from _Columbia_. But I'll leave you there long enough to break in whomever she chooses as her next first officer—and her next chief engineer. In January you'll be assigned planetside to oversee the final stages of _Intrepid's_ construction, and to put together your crew."

"Yes, sir." Lorian was outwardly calm, but Trip saw by how tightly he was holding Karyn's hand that he must be thrilled about this turn of events. His own command again! It was a dream come true for him. Trip couldn't be more proud of his son, and he sensed the same from T'Pol.

"The Officers Exchange Program will be up to speed by that time," Gardner was saying, "so you'll have several Vulcans available for your crew. I assume you'll be considering your former shipmates from _E²_ as well."

"Yes," Lorian nodded, his reserve giving way to quiet excitement. "They're all fine crewmen."

"The brass envisions _Intrepid_ as being our first true multi-species vessel—an Earth ship commanded by a Vulcan, manned by a crew that hails from many worlds." The admiral's gaze included Trip and T'Pol as well as Lorian and Karyn. "You're all unofficial ambassadors now, the embodiment of the ideals of the Alliance—humans and Vulcans working together for the betterment of both worlds."

"Together?" T'Pol repeated, with unmistakable hope in her voice.

"Oh...sorry, didn't I tell you?" Gardner's eyes twinkled merrily. "The Board of Inquiry has decided to keep you both on _Enterprise_."

"Hot damn!" Trip swept T'Pol up in a hug, Vulcan propriety be damned. He smiled as he felt her return his embrace without a hint of self-consciousness. "It's as last-minute as they can get, but we'll take it."

"Brace yourselves, Commanders," Gardner warned good-naturedly. "As soon as the press and the xenophobes get wind of this, they're going to have a field day."

"How ironic that the ship's grapevine will have far _less_ to gossip about now that you're married," Phlox observed.

"I wouldn't say that," Hoshi countered, glancing mischievously at Archer. "I have a feeling someone else is about to become a prime source of interest."

Archer looked pained. "You're joking."

Trip laughed. "Welcome to a whole new kind of fishbowl, Cap'n."

Malcolm perked up. "What's all this then?"

"Captain's got a girl," Trip said.

Chuck broke into a grin. "I'll be damned."

"Well?" Catherine prompted eagerly. "Don't just stand there like a stump, Jon. Tell us about her. What's she like?"

"Her name is Kyle, and she's..." Archer hesitated, clearly attempting to choose between too many compliments. Finally he gave up, his expression one of sublime joy. "She's everything I ever hoped for."

"There's that goofy look again," Karyn teased.

Soval studied the captain's expression with interest. "Is there a particular significance to a 'goofy' countenance, Lieutenant?" he asked Karyn.

"For an Archer, it means true love," she explained.

Soval nodded, filing it away as he would any bit of cultural minutiae. "Then, Captain, may we assume you plan on marrying as well?"

"You may indeed." Archer gave the ambassador a beatific smile. "...Uncle."

Karyn put a hand over her mouth in a fruitless effort to stifle a giggle, as Soval drew himself up indignantly. "I _beg_ your pardon?"

Archer blinked innocently. "Why, I distinctly remember you saying that if I ever planned to marry, I could call you—"

"I said we would _discuss_ it," Soval said stiffly.

"Exactly."

The ambassador arched an eyebrow. "The discussion is now at an end."

Archer looked wounded. Trip stepped forward protectively. "Aw now, Soval, is that any way to talk to my Pappy?"

The captain winced. V'Utan appeared mystified by it all. And for probably the first time in its many decades of existence, the quiet little Vulcan meditation garden filled with the sound of laughter.

* * *

_Orpheus Mining Colony  
__Luna_

Josiah entered John Frederick Paxton's office to find him watching Admiral Gardner's press conference on the big vidscreen. "...Earth and Vulcan have just agreed to a formal alliance," Gardner was saying. "A pledge to work together as equals. Commanders T'Pol and Tucker embody the principles of this alliance in every way, professionally as well as personally. They demonstrate the unlimited potential of our two peoples..."

Paxton switched off the display. "So Romeo and Juliet end their play with marriage instead of death, and turn their Shakespearean tragedy into a comedy."

"An unfortunate development," Josiah agreed.

Paxton shrugged faintly. "There is still good use to be made of them. The publicity that results from this will aid us in the long run." He turned his attention to his right-hand man. "The good doctor?"

"Waiting outside, sir."

"Show him in."

A moment later, the perpetually nervous Dr. Mercer entered. He carried a padd, turning it over and over in his hands.

"Good morning, Doctor," Paxton said. "How goes our little project?"

Mercer consulted his padd with slightly trembling hands. "I have the results of the analysis. Unfortunately, the latest round of genetic manipulation hasn't altered the creature's blood factors sufficiently to meet the minimum criteria we've set."

With the Rigellian gene therapy steadily losing its efficacy in managing Paxton's Taggart's Syndrome, this was unwelcome news. "I'm disappointed to hear that, Doctor," he said. "You're planning to begin another series, of course."

Mercer hesitated. That annoying twitching of his was an indication that he had something to say that Paxton wasn't going to like. At last the doctor ventured, "Nurse Khouri is concerned about risking another infection." He braced himself, looking as if he believed he would be struck down for making such a statement.

Not a bad thing, really, being feared. Paxton found fear as useful as idolatry; both kept his followers in line. "She is the expert when it comes to day-to-day maintenance of the monster," he acknowledged. He rose and crossed to the viewport, where he gazed out at the shaded grays of the lunar surface. "However, I can't help wondering if there will come a time when her loyalties are tested."

"She has as much reason to hate aliens as anyone!" Mercer protested. "They derailed her career—"

"We are Terra Prime, but we are also cursed with the milk of human kindness," Paxton said, with a hint of lament to his voice. "It is a quality we need to guard against. Even a kidnap victim can grow to adore the kidnapper, if sufficiently brainwashed." He turned back to Mercer. "We must keep a careful watch on her."

"Yes, sir," the nervous man nodded.

"As for the monster, I'm invested in its continued good health, of course," Paxton went on. "Not only for its blood, but for the vital role it will play in Terra Prime's cause, when the time is right." Judging from the reports he had been receiving from Mars, it was becoming more apparent that, in order to bring Terra Prime's most ambitious project to fruition, Paxton would need an engineer on hand of the caliber and creativity of Charles Tucker III of _Enterprise_. The monster would serve quite nicely as an irresistible lure.

He walked Mercer to the door. "I want to see forward progress with the genetic program, Doctor. Time is of the essence."

"I understand, sir," Mercer said obediently.

As the doctor departed, Josiah ducked his head in. "Ensign Shaughnessy to see you, sir."

Paxton nodded, and Josiah brought in Patrick Shaughnessy, relief helmsman of _Columbia_ and Terra Prime operative. The young man looked even more disgruntled than usual...but then again, having to answer to an alien half-breed would be reason enough to keep anyone in a foul mood.

Paxton settled himself behind his desk. "It's good to see you again, Patrick. What news of _Columbia?_ "

Shaughnessy slapped a padd on the desk. "This Eyes-Only bulletin was sent by Admiral Gardner to Captain Hernandez yesterday. Lorian is to be given command of the new NX-class starship under construction, _Intrepid_."

Paxton scanned the bulletin with a sigh of disgust. "No doubt he'll gather his ragtag group of alien riff-raff to populate his ship of fools."

"There'll be Vulcans aboard, too," Shaughnessy added bitterly. "Starfleet is planning an officer exchange program. They want this ship to be a shining example of the Alliance in action—a beacon lighting the way for the future of inter-species relations."

Paxton looked to Josiah, standing quietly at the door. "How many of those mutants did Gardner admit into Starfleet? Fifteen?"

"Nineteen."

Paxton shook his head in simmering frustration. "Today, nineteen. How many next month? Next year? It sends the wrong message. Earth is devolving into a melting pot of tainted metals. Starfleet should be sending purest gold to represent our planet."

Josiah chuckled dryly. "I would suggest you tell them...except that you and Starfleet don't exactly see eye to eye."

Paxton smiled faintly. "Perhaps we can open their eyes. It might be a good thing, in the short term, to have all these monsters in one place. The better to observe them—and weed out the impurities."

"Why wait?" Shaughnessy said hotly. "Having Lorian on _Columbia_, being forced to take orders from him—it's insulting! He needs to be dealt with, not given his own command!"

"Patience, Patrick," Paxton said calmly. "All in good time."

xx-xx-xx

The child was cranky today. Susan was having no luck getting her to take her bottle. But she was still weak and underweight, and Susan didn't want to resort to another round of IV feeding. It was time to take drastic measures again.

She took a quick look around the nursery—the rest of the Primers called it the Dungeon, this being the place where the Frankenstein monster was kept—to make sure she was alone. Then she gathered the child up in her arms and rocked her, stroking her wispy blond hair and softly telling her how beautiful she was. Within moments, Susan had coaxed the girl into drinking her formula.

As she was burping the baby, she heard a scandalized voice behind her. "Nurse Khouri! What are you doing?"

Susan turned to see Dr. Mercer in the doorway, staring at her in alarm. "You're not supposed to be handling the creature," he said sharply.

With care, Susan returned the child to her crib. "She hasn't been doing well in isolation. She's having trouble bouncing back from that last infection." As she tucked the baby's blanket securely around her, Susan eyed the doctor. "You know as well as I do that human patients respond well to physical contact. It comforts her, makes her feel better. It's as important a part of her healing process as the antibiotics."

Mercer still looked queasy. "Relax," Susan said lightly as she recorded the baby's feeding on her chart. "If she were a rhesus or a lab rat, I'd be doing the same thing."

The doctor calmed down, but only a little. "If Mr. Paxton thought you'd become emotionally attached to your lab rat, it wouldn't go well for you."

She gave him an unconcerned smile. "You worry about your blood workups, Doctor. I'll worry about the lab rat."

"He wants me to begin another round of gene therapy," Mercer said.

Susan didn't look up from her chart. "No."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mercer's face clouding up angrily. "Excuse me?" he said testily.

Susan turned to the monitoring equipment to record the baby's vitals. "She's still too weak—that last infection took a lot out of her. But this shouldn't be a surprise to you, Doctor. Her immune system has never been in great shape to begin with because of her accelerated gestation, and it's taken quite a beating over the last three months, considering what you've put her though."

Mercer fidgeted self-consciously. "Mr. Paxton is not a patient man. He wants results."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "He's not going to get any if he kills the rat, is he?"

The doctor's face screwed up in annoyance. "You don't seem to understand who's in charge here, Miss Khouri," he said tightly.

She faced him squarely. "You brought me here to make sure she stays alive and well. I'm doing my job. If you have a problem with that, you're free to take it up with Mr. Paxton."

That shut him up. Susan knew Mercer was scared to death of Paxton; he wouldn't dare cross the Fearless Leader. If the child were to die, Mercer would be the one held responsible. Still, it wouldn't be wise to push the man too far. Adopting a more conciliatory tone, Susan said, "Give her another week. She should be strong enough to tolerate the therapy by then."

"Very well. A week." Mercer started to leave...then stopped, turning back. "Remember, Miss Khouri, that our collective goal is to serve Terra Prime, not our own selfish ends. You're not here to nurture the creature, but to make sure it lives to serve the cause as well."

She nodded. "Of course, Doctor."

Looking more sure of himself, Mercer swept out, leaving her alone in the Dungeon with her monster.

Susan picked up the girl and cuddled her again, cooing to her until she smiled. The child had a beautiful smile. With her pointed ears and cherubic face, she could be an elf from a mythical fairyland. She was a quiet child, but those bright blue eyes were already remarkably observant, even at three months. Susan admired the grace with which the child endured the rigors and pain of the tests Mercer was subjecting her to. She had a serenity about her that seemed to transcend earthly travails.

Susan had prevailed over Mercer, but only for the moment. She would need to choose her battles carefully. As long as Fearless Leader needed the child, Susan had tremendous power. She intended to use it for all she was worth.

-The End-

* * *

_Closing Author's Notes_

I love this series. I've put my heart and soul into it, and the characters have all become like family. My original plan—once I actually broke down and started planning—was to take things all the way through "Terra Prime." But Real Life has gotten busier, and spare time to write fanfiction has grown scarce. For these reasons and others, I've decided to call it a day. "Redivivus" is the final story in the Reconnecting Series.

I offer heartfelt thanks to all of you who have taken the time to read and offer feedback for my stories. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to PM me here or visit my blog at http: / hopefulromantic117 .wordpress .com (just take out the spaces). You can also find me at TrekBBS, where I am a moderator in the _Enterprise_ forum. I go by the name HopefulRomantic.

As for a sequel series to Reconnecting...perhaps someday.

Take care, and happy reading.

HopefulRomantic


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